


I’ve Been Fed Gold

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Baker Keith, Captain Takashi Shirogane, Christmas Party, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Landlord Keith, Love at First Sight, M/M, Memories, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Build, mentions of weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: Matt looks at him through the tip of his nose. “Takashi Shirogane, I’m going to ask you this again. Did you chose this apartment because you think the landlord is hot?”Shiro stares back at him, resolve as solid as a stick of butter being left on the table. “No.”It’s relieving the Holts of his burden. It’s starting anew with a place of his own. Shiro didn’t expect himself to be pulled into a life of cinnamon rolls, perfectly placed mistletoes, and a handsome landlord.





	I’ve Been Fed Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be posted for Shiro’s birthday but life had been so hectic that I didn’t have the time. Anyway, happy very belated birthday to my love, Sheewo, uwu.
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy this!

“You know you can stay.”

The assault is swift and merciless, an eagle swooping down from the horizon in one arching fall towards its prey, claws unlatched with its beak spread wide into a fearless cry.

It makes Shiro pause at the middle of the staircase, barely blinking away his surprise as he sees Colleen, hands wrapped around a mug of steaming beverage from where she sits at the table, data pad flashing on to an article that’s being left to read before he makes his appearance known.

Sam glances up from where he’s turning over the sausages, apologetic. “Let the man wake up properly, Colleen.”

It clicks then, days of consolation and frevent worrying that are grown from the times when the stretch of wide skies have been put into his younger hands by pieces, how the world underneath them is explained with detail by this woman who has taken herself to become what figure he’s needed to have in his life.

Shiro tries to thank her in many ways as the visits to the Holt household become frequent over the years, where he has stepped through those doors with scraped knees and loud laughter while shoving shoulders with Matt. What extra money Shiro’s gotten from his small summer job when he’s only been thirteen lands into her hands in form of gifts and flowers, or he uses what spare time he once spends with his grandfather on making dinner with the Holts.

Fifteen; Shiro’s a fresh greenie who has just enrolled into the Garrison with what money his parents’ left for him long ago, assisted with Sam’s ability to tug strings. It’s one of those days where something gnaws the edges of his bones in warning he doesn’t foresee until it’s too late, until he finds out his grandfather’s heart has betrayed him one last time on a Tuesday afternoon.

It doesn’t upset Shiro as much as it should when he traces the soft lines etched on the corner of his grandfather’s eyes.

Shiro only left for less than an hour. Shiro only left to buy the same packet of crackers he knows his grandfather likes to munch on with his tea, and the trip had been shorter than usual when he’s sprinted on his bicycle that day. He comes back, and finds his grandfather slumped against his favourite single-seater; bright sunny rays shining through the slits of their shades, running down the length of his face. He would’ve appeared to be sleeping if Shiro hadn’t tried shaking him awake.

They sold the house. It surprised Shiro when he finds out most of the money had been transferred to him, under implicit instructions of his grandfather’s will that it is to be used to get through his studies, and hopefully, something that would work as a kickstarter for a new life once he passed his legal age. Shiro calculated the numbers with the Holts the next morning; another zero is added to his already six digit number.

A fifteen year old boy with a little too much money in his hands would’ve made him seem as dangerous. Shiro doesn’t want to make it that way, he respects his family too much to be a heinous heir.

Every semester, he stays at his dorm room. It’s only during the holidays did Colleen insisted that he bunks in with them, until he gets older and he’s been entrusted with more work his position requires, the Garrison providing him a small apartment for him to stay in the moment he graduates. He does visit them when he can, but that’s only because Iverson finally lets him off after Sam’s intervention.

That is before the accident. That is before Shiro finds himself more of a burden everyday.

Seeing them now, these two people who had basically brought him up as their own, Shiro knows it’s more important he doesn’t saddle them with his weight when their own children are already out of the house.

“Good morning,” he greets, and it may be the wrong thing to say, because Colleen’s look turns a bit dryer as he passes by her to make a beeline towards the cabinet, pulling out his mug to pour coffee into it. When he turns around to lean against the kitchen counter, the only two other people in the room is still staring at him. He smiles, gentle. “We talked about this.”

“So we did,” Colleen snipes, her annoyance bright in the way her brows turn down almost viciously. Shiro takes another sip of his beverage. “But, you can still change your mind about it.”

There’s a _click_ , and when Shiro watches Sam takes the food off the stove, it’s also noticing the way the older man keeps a far too neutral look on his face. Sam knows how insistent his wife would be, but it’s no secret how hard-headed Shiro would become as well.

It’s funny, because Shiro might have learned that from her in the first place.

“There are two places,” Shiro begins, joining them at the table. “I’ve checked both of them out, and it has everything what you would expect for an apartment.” He brings up his hand, ticking off a list. “Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room. One of the two has a walk-in closet, which I think is totally unnecessary for me. I might change that into an office for me to finish off my work when I have to bring back leftovers.”

They’re a bit pricey on the renting factor, but Shiro has been scouting anywhere near and finds that there are some that are actually thrice the price on what he’s chosen on. Lower than that, and he might have to live some way out of the city. He’s not ashamed to say he likes the necessities of living in a society where everything is just within his reach; friends, public transport, malls, the likes. He’s comfortable with where he is, and living in the suburbs won’t give him that.

“Do you have reliable neighbours?” Colleen doesn’t look up as she scoops her portion of breakfast into her plate, focusing on rolling the sausages to their destination. “So that they can help you if you have any sort of trouble on diffusing a situation that’s escalated from an accident or some sort.”

“I talked to a couple beside one of the places I’ve chosen, they seemed nice enough,” Shiro reassures her, and she gives him a slow nod; if her hands aren’t full, she would’ve waved for him to continue. “But, I’m sure I can pop open a jar of strawberry jam, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“There are a lot of things that I’m worried about.” There’s a _clank_ of silverware against the plate, and it echoes throughout the whole kitchen that Shiro’s forced to meet the pained look that’s taken over her expression — he doesn’t want to see her like this. He never did liked watching her go through something like this if he’s the cause. He’s been careful before. “You’re still recovering. You’re—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, she doesn’t have to. It’s visible in how she immediately closes her mouth, or how her eyes stray towards his empty sleeve as fast as the way she snaps them away. Guilt crashes in one looming wave as she grinds through her sausage with the side of her fork.

Sam doesn’t say a word. Sam has said what he wants to say the same day Shiro breaks it to him about his decision. Sam has made his peace two weeks ago, and he’s letting his wife make hers now.

“I can’t depend on you for the next of my life,” Shiro begins. “After what you’ve done for me all these years. I feel like I’m dragging you against the mud on every minute I’m staying here.” Colleen straightens up at this, eyes flashing with indignation.

“You know you’re not—“

“Colleen,” Shiro murmurs. It’s almost as if he’s admonishing her from how it makes her flinch. He’s not, and Shiro does his best to not let that skewer him so violently as he prevents himself from shifting in place, pressing his thumb into the inside of the mug handle. “I’m only armless, I’m still working my way around everything, but I still need the space to do it on my own. Besides,” he smiles. “I’ll _armed_ myself against what expectations one would usual have when you have two whole arms with you.”

“Might as well kick me when I’m down, huh?” Colleen shoves a forkful of food into her mouth while Sam chuckles beside her. But, when she looks up, she lets the corner of her mouth twitch up as she chews, and Shiro allows his amusement to jump up his cheeks before he starts eating as well.

“Aw, you’re going to miss my puns later.”

“If it’s going to be as ridiculous as having it to be self-deprecating, then I won’t, you horrid man.”

“But,” When Colleen dares him to continue with one hard look, Shiro only grins wider. “that’s what makes it even more funnier.” He gestures towards himself with a swipe of a hand. “It’s laughing at your own misery before moving on.”

He doesn’t tell her how he’s frequently woken up from the stab of pain that shoots up his shoulder, how sometimes, he goes through his breathing exercises in hopes to subside it down, half of his face buried into his pillow as he fears the way they would hear him make a racket of himself from how much he’s tossing around. It gets bad when his dreams take over in the middle of the night, shaking him awake with a ferocity that has him arching up in bed, molars grinding against one another while splashes of reds and bright lights and scorching heat flashes behind his eyelids.

Sometimes, when it goes away enough for him to stand, he walks around the room he’s been given to stay, trying to be as quiet as possible while going around and around the small space while he clutches onto the throbbing stump. The ointment helps on most days, but it’ll get intense at times, and then, he struggling to keep his head above the water when it’s too much at once.

He doesn’t tell any of them that, though. Shiro hopes they don’t suspect of his late night pacing, but the dark crescent moons underneath his eyes might give him away. Questions on how he slept happens more times than he can count when he goes down the stairs a little worse to wear, and it’s easier to talk about the dreams rather than about how it’s still causing him physical pain.

Shiro doesn’t tell them this. They don’t need to know.

But, he _can_ drive with his remaining limb — he finds a way to use his armpit to open up jars, he can slip in as many recyclable bags in his fingers to prevent second trips. He’s adapted himself to this, improvised his life to suit what crater he’s been dumped into. The process has been frustrating to the point it makes his skin crawl with self-contempt, but he’ll jump through it, over it, and under it if he has to.

He has worked hard to get where he’s been leading his life; he’s not throwing it away for a supposed incompetence everyone else would expect from a man reduced into something being seen as just having one arm.

“I’m sure you’d be able to choose an apartment soon,” Sam finally speaks, reaching over for the data pad Colleen has left beside her. “I was pretty impressed by your taste in them. Very modernised, and very you.”

Shiro laughs. “Home decor doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that it has to be near where I’m familiar with my bearings. The traffic, for example, while horrendous, is something I can cut through without breaking a sweat.”

“Ah, a true city boy.” Sam winks, tapping on the data pad to change to a different article. “I knew we raised you right.”

Shiro raises his mug. “To civilisation.”

Colleen shakes her head, astonished by the turn of events that happens over her old dining table, but joins her husband in Shiro’s toast by checking her mug against theirs.

Shiro takes a loud sip of his drink. Colleen only gives him a long look.

“One day, I’m coming over just make a mess of your kitchen,” she says, pointing her fork at his direction. “Make you something that you’d get to keep in the fridge, so that you’d just take it out if you won’t have the chance to eat dinner earlier. I know how your timetable works, and it’s a complete nightmare.”

“I’ve been trying to loosen up some of the load on my desk, but it seems endless nowadays, so,” he trails off, shrugging, taking another bite. “But, I really appreciate the gesture, Colleen. Thank you.”

“Think of it as your second housewarming gift later.” Shiro blinks at her, surprised, but she’s already waving off his expression. “I found this really handy dicer where you just put your onions, garlics, and other things into this container. You pull onto the string to let the blades chop everything in it.” She mimes what she says, and it’s similar to how one would start a mower before they trim their grass. “It’s handy, and very convenient.”

The invention of cooking appliances has become the best thing that’s ever happened to Colleen for the past few years when she’s been too busy at the Garrison as well. Convenient as mentioned, and it basically saved her more energy as opposed to before. Shiro knows she enjoys herself more now after the kitchen got renovated as well. He makes a note to buy her something as a thank you. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

She smiles, smug, and brings her mug to her lips. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

It’s somewhere during the afternoon, and Shiro’s walking down the streets with an armful of new comforters for his new place when the smell of an opened oven catches his nose.

Looking around, he finds himself near the entrance of a bakery, door ajar as people walk in and out with similar looks of curiosity and satisfaction etched on their faces. When Shiro peers in, the place is swamped with how people are queueing up to get their buns and cakes, a tray and a pair of sugar tongs in hand as they choose whatever it is that’s being displayed.

Shiro steps to the side as people past, eyeing the paper bag one of them holds as the obvious smell of banana cake wafts under his nose. It’s tempting. He’s had his lunch, but the aroma of the bakery calls out to him in ways of seduction, and no one can resist a good bread.

He’s about to step in, feeling pleased at the notion he’ll be getting something sweet for himself, when he notices a piece of paper that’s been taped to the transparent walls of the bakery. Taking a closer look, he realises it’s an offer, and it says an apartment is being rented just above this very bakery — any further details are to be asked inside, with a tour of the place if they’re interested.

The bright orange background and marshmallow-y font snags onto his heart, and he can’t but feel a little bit endeared at how it fits so perfectly with the aura this bakery emits. Shiro knows he’s already chosen the other two apartments, but it can’t hurt to look. He could just grab something to munch on for dessert, a brownie of sorts perhaps, before mentioning he’d like to have a quick look-around at this apartment.

He walks in, readjusting his hold on his bag of comforters as he grabs a tray and tongs, and scouts through the small alley to bring back some cakes for the Holts as well.

Everything in that place looks delicious. The creativity the owner has in making their desserts look aesthetically pleasing as much as they look delicious is astounding; there are cinnamon rolls drizzled with white sugar, various flavours of fat cream puffs that look as if they’re going to burst if someone accidentally bumps into the containers, triple chocolate brownies with a zig zag dribble of strawberry sauce.

By the counters, cakes with impressive designs and toppings are being served in the commercial fridge, cups of créme brûlée stacked neatly beside them. There’s even a whole section that only consists of bread of many types; it’s having their muffins perched proudly on the top shelves to whole loaves settling comfortably on the bottom.

It’s spectacular. This place must be new, since Shiro has no idea it exists until the very moment, or he’s been too holed up in his work to actually make his way around the city like he used to.

Well, he’s glad he’s found this place now.

He makes a grab for the cinnamon rolls and some brownies before he makes his way to the counter, where a man with an orange band around his forehead greets him with a wide smile. “Hi, welcome to Kogane’s! Will that be everything?”

“Yeah.” Shiro watches him pack his goods into a box, before he clears his throat slightly. “I noticed that sign by the window, about an empty apartment above the bakery? Is that still available?"

“It is, actually,” The man, Hunk, his name tag reads, looks delighted that he mentions it. “It’s been empty for a while, ever since the landlord kicked out the last person who occupied it. So, he’s been looking for other people to fill in the place.”

Shiro blinks. “Why did he kick that person out?”

“The dude played drums in the middle of the night and had neighbours file in noise complaints for a couple of times.” Hunk slides in the bag to Shiro, who hooks his fingers onto the strings and heaves it off the counter. “In fact, the door crashed down after people kept pounding on it to yell at him, and then the landlord had to replace it with a new one until he eventually kicked the dude out.” Hunk shrugs, using his hands to lean against the counter. “Messy business. But, everything else is in perfect condition if you wanna check it out.”

When Hunk stabs a thumb over his shoulder, Shiro notices a grilled door that leads to what looks like a hallway by the entrance of the bakery. There’s another door that comes in from the outside — grilled again and locked no doubt, unless someone buzzes in anyone from the inside.

There’s a line that’s starting to form behind him as people wait for their turn to pay. Shiro nods, digging into his pockets to give out some cash after he glances at the numbers being displayed on the small screen of the cashier. “Sure thing, if it’s not any trouble for you.”

“Great! Just hang on a second,” Hunk leaves to slip into the back room just as Shiro steps to the side, allowing the line to move as he waits by the grilled door.

When Hunk comes back out, a woman with blonde hair follows him from behind. They talk for a while, before the woman takes over his place and Hunk is already walking towards Shiro’s way. “We’re good to go.” Hunk says, swiping a card against the sensor of the door before it gives out a _beep_. “You’ll be getting some keys if you ever made up your mind on choosing this place, of course. We take security very seriously here, and everything’s been installed to the latest model. There are cameras around every corner, so it’ll be easier to track down anyone doing anything fishy.”

As they walk, Shiro notices how there’s almost a rustic look to the place, with its deep brown wood that stretches down the length of the hallway and up the walls. Paintings that look like it’s been taken out of the Louvre hangs proudly above his head as he passes by them, with bright lights that allow every corner to be seen, as opposed to how dim some places can be when a building is structured such way. There’s an elevator at the end, and Hunk presses onto the button to go up.

“Do I need to put a deposit first if I do decide to stay here?”

“Yep, for a month, and then it’s monthly payment from there.” When the elevator arrived, Shiro somehow feels as if he’s in a very small but posh hotel with how deep the reds of its walls are. There’s a mirror ceiling staring back at him when he glances up, clear as crystal. Hunk laughs at his expression as the doors shuts close behind them. “Fancy, isn’t it?”

“The pastel colours of the bakery definitely threw off anything you’d expect in here,” Shiro comments, and he doesn’t get the chance to lean against the railing before the doors open to the second floor. There’s a shrill _ding!_ above their heads. He lets one side of his mouth twist up. “I’m impressed. Your landlord has taste.”

“Oh, definitely. And I’d remember to tell him that later.” The hallway to this floor has the same wooden exterior like the main lobby, and Shiro steps out after Hunk as they walk down the path. “He’s the owner of Kogane’s too.”

“He’s a baker?” Shiro asks, and then Hunk turns towards the first door on the right, before he reaches forward to twist the doorknob open.

“A businessman, to be accurate. But, yes, he’s a baker too.” When the door swings open, the first thing Shiro sees is how thick the curtains are from where they aren’t drawn, dipping the whole place into darkness. He could hardly see anything, other than the outline of the counter connecting between the kitchen and the dining room as the corridor lights shine in from outside.

Hunk makes a beeline towards the windows and tugs the curtains open. Immediately, the sun comes streaming through, and Shiro sets aside his belongings on the counter as he takes a look at the place.

It’s not overly huge, but it’s enough for one or even two persons to stay. There are two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, a kitchen. It even has a balcony, and Shiro’s able to see the roads when he stands near the transparent doors. Under Hunk’s permission, Shiro unlocks them before sliding them open, and the light touch of afternoon breeze brushes against his cheeks.

And, to Shiro’s surprise, this apartment is cheaper than the other two he’s chosen; considering how fully furnished it is, he suspects it to be on the expensive side of the spectrum.

But, that isn’t the case, and he knows whatever deity who’s finally taken pity on him has given this silver platter with a seven-course-meal opportunity right under his nose; he’d be an absolute fool to pass it up. The chances of this place being taken by someone else is very high if he ever lets it go, and then he’s going to regret ever doing it for the rest of his life.

Shiro steps out of the bedroom, wanting to suggest the possibility of booking the place without actually putting down an initial payment first —since he wants to weigh his options properly before making a decision— only to find Hunk out in the hallway with someone else.

Curious, Shiro slows down his steps, but Hunk notices him and waves him over.

“I never actually asked your name,” Hunk says with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. Someone behind the door scoffs lightly, and Shiro offers him a smile.

“It’s Shiro.”

“Well, Shiro, I’m Hunk, but you probably know that from this,” Hunk gestures at his nametag, and then he nudges the door wider to reveal the other person standing behind it. “And Keith, the landlord I told you about. Who also owns the bakery I’m currently working at right now.”

Shiro feels himself stop, because when Hunk talks about the landlord of the building, he suspects that person to be a man who’s probably older than Sam and has lived with enough rowdy young people to last him a lifetime. He thinks this landlord had enough and plans on spending the last moments of his life in peace, mirror lifts and all. Because from how the drummer has been kicked out, one would think that the noise would’ve been disruptive to a person with sensitive hearing.

Noise complaints are, technically, a disturbance for everyone, and if someone’s door got detached from it hinges because of it, some extra precautions might need to be considered. Perhaps Shiro would’ve think of something else other than kicking that person out, but that’s besides the point.

No, what Shiro sees now is how young the man standing in front of him is, maybe similar in age to Shiro himself. Keith, the landlord, is donned in the same baker’s uniform Hunk wears; it’s having his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with some flour dusted against the sharp angle of his jaw and on the apron wrapped around his waist. He has dark hair that he ties into a low ponytail, and eyes that’s similar to galaxies and universes and other cosmic entities trained solely on Shiro.

Forcing himself to have a firm grip of his rattling conscious, Shiro offers his hand, allowing an easy smile to take control of the situation while being under the intensity of that dark gaze. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” When Keith clasps his palm, it’s firm, it’s giving Shiro a single shake that can barely be felt before they’re letting each other go. Keith offers a polite smile that looks a little too forced around the edges. “Unless you don’t mind, the only downside of staying here is having the smell of bread spiking up early in the morning. We have to get everything ready from five since our shop opens by seven, so a sorry in advance if you do decide to stay here.”

“I am,” Shiro lets out. Hunk and Keith only stare back at him in surprise, and what Shiro says finally reconnects itself to his brain that he’s scrambling to cover it up with a clear of his throat. “I mean, this apartment is really nice, and I’m actually interested in staying here. But, it’s going to be somewhere around next week when I actually do since I haven’t started packing up yet.”

This isn’t making amends, this isn’t keeping his vanity in tact after that slip. He basically just confirmed he’s agreeing to stay at this particular apartment without pulling himself together first.

He has blabbered out more useful things when he’s drunk. Whatever pit he’s fallen into is going to be a pain to climb out of.

“You want to stay here?” Keith asks, wiping a palm across his face, the same spot where the flour got smeared on. Shiro wipes his own hand against his thigh as he settles his gaze on Hunk instead. “Because I can get the keys to the place now, if you want.” Keith looks over his shoulder and into the apartment, and thins his lips slightly. “And a vacuum cleaner.”

 _I’ll think about it._ It’s a sensible response, because Shiro really does need to reconsider things thoroughly now after the slip-up he ungraciously tumbles upon. The outcome to house choosing is long term. No one moves out so soon from their new home because they’re heating up under the collar after meeting the owner of the place.

“I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow morning, if you don’t mind,” Shiro says instead, trying to appear as composed as possible. It’s the only good thing that’s come out of his mouth for the past ten minutes. Now, he has to maintain that demeanour until he gets out of the building and, possibly, never come back. “Can I, uh, have your number for that?”

Shiro pats through his coat for his phone, trying not to fumble. When he whips it out, dials the string of numbers Keith drones out, the voice of reason one would usually have in situations like this shrieks at him in outrage.

 

* * *

 

It’s exactly eight days later when Shiro has both Matt and Pidge helping him out unpack in his new home. 

Downstairs, the bakery bustles on as the clock ticks by.

“You know, I’m kinda surprised at the impromptu change in this,” Matt begins, unwrapping newspaper from the plates. “You’ve been sitting on that other two apartments for almost a month, but then you change your mind on the same day you checked this place out.” He leans forward to properly meet Shiro’s eyes over the boxes, eyebrows arched up. “You don’t do impromptu.”

“This place begged me to choose it.” Shiro gives the title a once-over, surrounded by piles of books that’s been stacked around him from where he’s on the floor. After he tacks on a mental reminder to actually read the book, he slips it onto the shelf. “It has a balcony.”

“I find it hard to believe you chose this place _only_ because of a balcony.”

“Gotta admit, you got one hell of a view,” Pidge says, slipping inside from said balcony before dropping on the sofa. She stretches her arms above her head with a long groan, hooking her legs on the armrest. “The park’s right across the street, there’s a 24-hour Kmart a couple of blocks away, and you have a bakery right under you. You’re basically in every millennial’s dream.”

Shiro peers at Matt around the heap of boxes on the counter, and he likes to imagine himself something out of a whack-a-mole when he only sees his friend’s head. “See?”

Matt stares back in contemplation. “Fine, but you’d always do a compare and contrast kind of thing whenever it comes to the choices you make. Why was this any different?”

 _Because I’m gay._ “A change of heart,” Shiro says instead, putting up a book end.

“Uh-huh.”

Shiro stretches over and uses his stump to nudge Pidge in her ankle. “Hey.” When she grunts out in response, not bothering to get up, Shiro does it again. “Are my succulents okay?”

“They’re fine, I just put them on the table like you asked me too.”

“They’re weren’t falling off or anything?”

“Nope.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Matt leans back again to catch Shiro’s eyes, a thumb jabbed at that direction. “Should I?”

Shiro shakes his head, standing up. “I’ll do it.”

When he swings the door open, the first thing Shiro notices is Keith, and he’s changed out of his uniform into a red t-shirt and jeans, his hair free from his ponytail while the cascading waves frame around his face. Keith is holding onto a small box in hand, with thin ribbons formed into a bow on top and all, before he’s straightening his back the moment he meets Shiro’s caught look.

Keith parts his mouth to speak when he notices all those opened boxes on the counter with Matt sitting on the stool, and gives Shiro an apologetic wince. “I’m interrupting, huh?”

Shiro snaps his jaw up with a click, smiling in reassurance. “Nah, we’re almost done anyway. It’s just the kitchen that’s left.” He scratches the itchy spot behind his ear, before remembering he has people who knew him like the back of their hands and snaps his own down to his side. He clears his throat instead. “How can I help you?”

“Just wanted to know if _you_ needed help, and to bring you this.” When Keith offers the box to him, Shiro tentatively takes it by hooking his fingers onto the ribbons and lifting it off his palm. “Think of it as a welcome gift from the bakery.” Keith lets one corner of his mouth to hook up. “Special edition, by the way. You can’t have this down there.”

Shiro lets out a huff of laughter. “Thank you. And my friends have been helping me since just now, so we got that covered. But, thanks again for the offer.” He holds up the box, trails of ribbon brushing against his knuckles. “And this. I really appreciate the trouble you took to make this, it’s probably as good too.”

“I’ve been doing this for years, don’t worry about it.” Keith sails a hand over his bangs, seemingly embarrassed at the praise. Shiro almost loses his balance by how he’s leaning too much on one foot but manages to catch himself.

He reddens, hoping Keith doesn’t notice that.

Matt does, because Matt always catches whatever Shiro does for almost two decades to suddenly not to. “Wow.” He deadpans, unimpressed.

When Shiro whips his head around to shoot him a glare, he notices the way Pidge has her full attention on them from where she’s already straightened herself up on the couch; her legs are folded under her, chin propped on her closed fist, the same focus she has when she’s neck deep in a project drills right to the centre of his third eye. If the sun’s angle is right, a chaotic god on an unquenchable desire for a strike would surely make an appearance on the gleam of her glasses.

Shiro’s already arming himself for a barrage of attacks later.

“Oh,” Keith says, ignorant of Shiro’s slip and how he’s trying to keep the Holts from snapping at his heels. Shiro lets his attention jerk back to him. “Well,” Keith swipes over his bangs again when they almost get into his eye. “I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything, I’m just down the corridor. Don’t hesitate to bang on my door at any time if it’s important, even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

Shiro nods, smiling. “Sure thing. And thanks again for, uh.” He turns the box around as he looks for a name, laughing. “Well, this.”

“You’ll like it,” Keith says, and it’s confident, the glint in his eyes apparent, causing Shiro’s grin to widen on its own record. “See ya, Shiro.”

“See you.” Keith leaves at the same time Shiro uses his shoulder to nudge the door close.

The moment Shiro locks it, Matt snorts. Loudly. “‘Change of heart’ my _ass._ You horny bitch.”

“Fuck off.” Shiro brings the box nearer to his chest as he walks back to his living room to work on his shelf. “I was gonna share this, but I changed my mind. No dessert for you.”

“You mean the same way you changed your mind the moment you saw tall, dark, and dreamy?”

When Shiro sees Pidge watching his every move, he stops near the armrest, narrowing his eyes at her. “Not a word.”

She squints back at him, nose wrinkling. “You _are_ a horny bitch. Embrace it.”

“You chose this place because of him, didn’t you?” Matt demands, pushing himself off the stool to march towards Shiro, who’s plopped down on the floor again to ignore them both as he pulls out another book from the box. Matt is persistent when he stands directly by his hip. “Hey.” He pokes Shiro’s ass with his big toe. “Did you chose this apartment because you think the landlord is hot?”

“I did not,” Shiro lies, and Pidge scoffs out in disbelief as she leans forward, elbows on her knees.

“Well done, Shiro,” she says, a wide grin on her face. “You just unlocked the bonus level for this plane of dimension. It’s called ‘thinking with your dick.’”

“You’re a menace,” Shiro declares, careful in making sure the box is by his side and not being bumped against too much. If it’s a dessert with toppings, he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“Coming from you, that’s rich.” Matt looks at him through the tip of his nose. “Takashi Shirogane, I’m going to ask you this again. Did you chose this apartment because you think the landlord is hot?”

Shiro stares back at him, resolve as solid as a stick of butter being left on the table. “No.”

Pidge clicks her tongue in pity, flopping back onto the couch.

“I did not,” Shiro insists, but he can’t stop the way his tone edges onto defensive that the Holts only shake their heads, turning away. “This is slander. You’re both saying I’d lie about something like this.”

“Third year, Flame On Montgomery,” Matt recites, eyebrows arching up high as he settles back on his stool. Shiro prevents himself from sneering at him in betrayal. “Do I need to remind you that?”

“That’s different.” Shiro retorts.

If possible, those eyebrows would’ve popped off from how they’re so far up Matt’s forehead. Too bad Shiro can’t shove them up his ass. “Are you really trying to deny that mess?”

“Wait, I don’t know about this,” Pidge cuts in, hands waving in front of Shiro that he only shoots her a pleading look. “No, no. You mentioned it in front of me, so now you have to tell me about it.”

“He set Montgomery's hair on fire with a teaspoon, some sugar cubes, a mug, and three whole pieces of brownies.” Matt reaches in the box to take out a handful of cutleries, flashing out a sweet smile. “Weed brownies.”

Shiro falls to the side until his cheek sinks into the seat cushion, helpless when Pidge gasps loudly above his head. And then, brown hair tickles his ear from how she’s hovering above him, face upside down with a grin present. “I thought you’re supposed to be careful when eating those.”

“We were eighteen.” Is all Shiro says.

“He was trying to see if a hundred lit sugarcubes could balance one tall ceramic mug,” Matt starts. Shiro turns his head and buries his face deeper into the seat cushion until his nose is flattened, groaning lowly. “He coated the sugar cubes with oil so that they’d light up faster. And, he did it in the officer’s lounge at two a.m. I know, because I was there trying to stop him from killing himself.”

“You’re both nuts.” Pidge comments, stretching forward to take the box Keith gave him that’s nestled protectively on Shiro’s side. Without looking up, he slaps her hand away.

“The twist is, the spoon’s on the edge of microwave with one side weighed by the mug, while the other was those sugar cubes,” Matt continues primly, using the same tone Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice would’ve done when she’s talking about how beautiful Jane is for Mr. Bingley. “Shiro already lit them up when Montgomery decided he needed a little midnight snack and scared the shit out of us when the door opened. Naturally, Shiro let go of the mug while trying put in the last ten sugarcubes, and the rest of them just,”

Matt holds up his hand, and lets out a low whistle as he imitates a falling airplane by crashing it into the box. Then, he drops his hand on the counter with a _splat_ , explosion noises not forgotten.

“All of that was because he was trying to impress Adam after both of them got high together.” Matt finishes. He bats his eyes at Shiro. “It was very romantic.”

“ _Adam?_ ” Pidges lets out. “As in, _Adam_ Adam? Glasses Adam?”

“I’ve only dated one Adam in my life,” Shiro speaks up as he pushes himself off the couch, deciding that he can’t fight them on this when he’s outnumbered. “And I was eighteen on weed. It’s understandable we’d do stupid things.”

“Who’s we?” Matt demands as he keeps all those spoons and forks into the respected drawer. “ _We_ almost got suspended for those _and_ giving Montgomery an island on his head. That’s like, criminal negligence or something.”

Perhaps. All Shiro knows is that Iverson yelled at the three of them right after that for being ‘the most impertinent people he had the pleasure of knowing.’ “ _You_ brought those brownies.”

“And I told you to eat _one_.”

“I was _hungry._ ”

“Why didn’t you get expelled or suspended then?” Pidge asks. “With all of that? No offence, but it should’ve happened.”

Both Shiro and Matt share a look. In the end, Shiro easily replies, “Nepotism.”

She lets out a cackle. “No wonder Montgomery always looked like I let Bae-Bae piss in his drink every time he looks at me. It was because of what you two did.” She slumps back on the couch, arms stretched above her head again. “You know, I’m just glad he didn’t decide to sabotage my grades because of what every single thing this family did. All of you, plus dad, have done some serious felons in that tin can of a place.”

Shiro snorts. “We were punished for the rest of the semester and next, don’t worry.”

“But, see, this is the _exact_ same situation as Flame On Montgomery,” Matt presses, stabbing a finger onto the surface of the counter, punctuating every single word of the next sentence with each jab. “You’re doing things with your dick again. Dick Out Landlord. When will you learn?”

“Matt.” Shiro sighs, knowing this will be another thing he’ll be hearing for the next of his life. “Will you please stop naming every crisis I’m going through?”

“Only if you stop committing to them, man,” Matt vows, clearing out the rest of the contents in the box.

It’s when the sun sinks further down that Matt and Pidge left, giving him hugs and more good-natured teasing that has Shiro shoving a palm into Matt’s face until they’re all laughing again. It’s a good feeling, and the hearth of familiarity flickers deeply underneath the confines of his ribs.

The orange skies sneak into his apartment, reaching across the floors with long branches while Shiro clears out the last box he has put aside. Alone now, the humming white noises ring within the shell of his ears, amplified more without his friends’ accompanying voices. With how quiet this apartment is, it’s as if it has shrouded itself with a thick wool blanket, hiding from view, while the traffic from below is blocked completely by the soundproof windows.

He wishes he’ll able to convince himself this is soothing, but his heart picks up a rate at how close to shrill it sounds, as if a bell submerged underwater is ringing directly into his ear. It’s distracting, and he pulls out some framed pictures while the small collisions they emit drown out most of it.

It’s seeing a picture of him and his grandfather, taken just a month before he passed, with another older one of his parents with a tinier version of himself slotted between their legs sits beside it.

Shiro doesn’t remember much of them, could barely know how they sound like without going through old videos they’ve taken when he has been younger. The few scenes that stand out sticks with him until now, and it’s clear as a sunny day to how those memories will still be with him if he thinks about them hard enough.

He takes a long look at his mother’s smile, one achingly similar to the ones he would wear when he’s looking at the camera, to his father’s crooked one. They have been good parents, as far as his seven-year-old self was concerned, stern in ways any parents should be to their children, but have offered their abundance of love to him during the whole time they’ve been alive that he’s grateful for it, for them.

It’s remembering the way his mother would brush his hair before going to school, her perfume a sweet smell of freshwater roses just underneath her pulse lingers around them like the morning air itself. It’s remembering the way her pearl earrings would glint under the lights, worn during special occasions, an anniversary present from his father that match with the necklace that rests on her collarbones.

Shiro remembers his father, commonly known a man with the quizzical brow among his peers, lying beside him on his bed with a book between them. He mimics the voices of the characters as he reads to Shiro, going so far to play the scene out with him before his mother cuts them off. It’s remembering how his father would bring Shiro to the Garrison, letting him do his homework in his father’s office while Shiro waits for him to finish the last of his meetings.

It’s remembering the way his grandfather picks him up from school, a small smile that looks entirely too sad weighs down on his aging face that Shiro only blusters on to meet him, curious, before his grandfather offers to get ice cream for him.

Shiro watches him then, confused. “Mama doesn’t let me eat ice cream before lunch.”

His grandfather smiles again, holding onto his hand as they walk back to the car. “How about some burritos then?”

They did, and Shiro thinks that has been one of the most bizarre days of his young life because they only ever visit his grandfather on the weekends. Shiro doesn’t say anything yet, and only eats at the small stall he and his parents like to go when work would be too much and they’re too tired to cook at home.

Shiro swings his legs, watches the way his grandfather neatly folds the aluminium wrapper after finishing off his food. “Where’s Mama and Papa?”

When his grandfather glances at him, it’s brief, wordless; and before Shiro knows it, there’s a small bird sitting right in front of him. The origami is beautiful, and from how the paper has been initially used as a wrapper, it’s straightened so thoroughly until there’s hardly any creases on its body. Shiro blinks at it, mouth full, before meeting those waiting eyes.

The truck’s brake had been loose. His parents have plans on having lunch together on a weekday for the first time in years. They wouldn’t have seen it. The corner turn was too sharp for anyone to expect it.

Their whispers have been agonising at the funeral, the pity more so. Poor boy, those people would say. He’s far too young for this, someone else would add. Someone heard from one of the witnesses that the crunch of the car could be heard from the nearby restaurant. It hadn’t been anyone else's fault, despite what others would say of its missing driver. It’s only bad luck.

Shiro lets the tip of his finger brush down the length of his mother’s face, sighing softly, before he turns away and walks towards his kitchen.

The box Keith gave him earlier sits where Shiro has put it on the counter, and something tickles him funny at the thought of Keith going through all the trouble to make something for him in order for him to feel welcomed. It’s rather nice of him, Shiro thinks. Some might not even be bothered, but Keith spares enough time for Shiro to make what looks like a mini cake for him.

“Special edition, huh?” Shiro murmurs to himself as he climbs up the stool. He tugs on the ribbon until it falls loose, before popping the lid open. Shiro can’t help but feel as if he’s opening a Christmas present.

It’s a cinnamon roll, but it’s much bigger than the ones he’s seen at the bakery with an entirely different topping than its normal white sugar. It’s doused with chocolate, sprinkled with speckles of rustic looking crunchies that he assumes are caramel and nuts. Shiro thinks it looks frighteningly sweet and there’s no chance in which he’ll be able to finish this in one sitting.

He stretches around and pulls out a fork from the drawer, before turning back to the monstrous dessert being left exposed under his gaze. He stabs the utensil into it and digs in with one big bite.

“Oh my god,” he moans, letting his eyes flutter close as he savours every bite that burst on top of his tongue. It’s as good as it looks. The crunch of the caramel topping gives the soft bread a texture of fireworks in his mouth, and all the ridiculous noises coming out of him would’ve been considered as obscene if anyone happens to hear him. “God, this is so good.”

He takes another bite, and he’s a goner from then.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Shiro realises when he wakes up is that he’s breathing far too heavily through his mouth for it to be considered as normal, air coming out fast and uncoordinated despite not hearing them. The next thing his attention manages to snag on is that the ceiling above his head isn’t the same as the room he used to stay at the Holts. He doesn’t recognise this place, he doesn’t know where he is. 

There’s a stutter in his throat, a pained sound ripped out of his throat unwillingly.

The deafening ring comes back at full force, one that makes the bang of his heart echo around his ears, its vibrations a colossal impact upon the cage of his bones and the expanse of his skin until he’s grinding his molars to the point of breaking them. He’s sweating. He’s sweating, and the comforters stick to him like excess mucus and he kicks them off his legs to have space.

When an unknown feeling crawls down the slope of nape, Shiro pushes himself up with one heaving shove until he’s gripping the edge of the bed and making himself look around.

It’s his room, something deep within him reminds him. It’s his room, those are his clothes, and these are the sheets he’s chosen. This is his room, this is his place, and this will be the place he will wake in on every single morning to face what world he’s been placed into.

He lets his thumb grind into the bed sheets, head tilting to the ceiling again as contempt burns hotly down his throat.

They are not coming.

They are not coming, he thinks again, allowing the pieces to slot back into the same abandoned spaces. They are not coming, he repeats, firmly this time, once he has his fist wrapped tightly around his own conscious as the world expands further to the door, to the windows that allow him to see the bright glare of the street light through the slit of his curtains, and finally, to where it sinks deep down to the very center of his own being. He clamps down for purchase, and gives himself a very hard shake.

He pushes his tongue against the row of clenched teeth. They are not coming.

There would be no fire, there would be no men who would wear smiles for the sake of fake trust and there would be no men who would be the best of the best for the sake of demented protocol. There would be no scorching metal and there would be no pooling blood.

Those people are taken care of. Those people have met their punishment when they decided they wanted to kill him for being Commander Shirogane’s only son despite the fact his father has been buried six feet under for more than twenty years. It’s because he is Takashi Shirogane, one of the best pilots they have, the youngest to rise through what effort he’s made himself committed to, and one of the three who’s been shortlisted to travel further into a universe where men have yearned to go for decades.

It’s a matter of business, of bitter jealousy and years of wanting revenge after his father made the decision of putting someone back in place with one, hard shove that has them toppling into the same muck they’ve made. Those people have roared injustice, biases, but others have known how Commander Shirogane has cut off the head of a snake.

No one realised it grew three back and used his own son as target practice years later.

Perfection is when someone maps a plan without the knowledge of the best elite force in the country and managed to have its bug planted into the people who have similar misgivings. It’s having it developed into stages throughout the years, before everything settles in place and by then, no one’s noticed every miniscule change that’s been tweaked everyday.

When it happens, it’s quiet, it’s secluded, and Shiro finds himself alone.

It isn’t until hours later that they find him pushed out of the seat of his own jet on a small island, engines blasted off while its wings torn from the impact. Scratched on they found out later, once Shiro’s well enough to tell the tale after two days of sleeping. There are weapons, claw-like and vicious as they grab onto his plane and toss him around, before they go in for the kill.

By then, all connections to the tower are cut off. There are no answers when he calls for them, and Shiro has tried his best to out run these new enemies before it’s too late.

His arm got crushed by how the helm caves in, bones splintered into hundreds of pieces and flesh torn into mangled meat. The blood lost hasn’t killed him, and he’s still breathing when a team of rescuers found him slumped against the console despite the cloud of black smoke that has risen from the wreckage.

Shiro takes one last calming breath as the smell of metal fades. He finds himself staring at the floor between his feet.

It’s just bad luck.

It’s done. That has passed. It doesn’t do him any good every time he dwells on it.

When Shiro reaches for his phone, the white numbers glare out how early it is for him to be awake. There’s hardly any sunlight outside, and the chilly air should have prompted him back to the opened arms of his bed.

He inhales another breath. The fresh smell of bread consumes his nostrils that he’s faintly surprised at the sudden intensity of it.

The bakery. He’s living above the bakery.

When he stands, the sudden violent twinge of his stump has him grabbing onto it with gritted teeth, jolted more at the sensation of the strike rather than the dull throbbing that spreads at the softer part of the old tissue.

Shiro takes another deep breath, and makes his way towards the bathroom to have a cold shower.

When he finishes, it’s using the lift down and walking through the hallway before he swipes his key against the door. It swings open under the push of his palm, and the burst of raw morning air slaps his nose and cheeks with a force that has him squinting.

The park stays empty aside for the couple of other joggers on the trail. It’s still dark enough for the street lights to cast long shadows across the grass, the full moon still letting itself be seen among the partially dark skies.

When Shiro runs, he makes sure his legs hurt and his lungs would burn and the peace in which he asks for comes in the noisy puffs of his breaths. When Shiro runs, it’s hearing how the crickets bid him goodnight and the birds stretch their wings in the rustle of the leaves and the chirp of their young.

It’s when the skies turn a little brighter that he goes back, a sense of satisfaction thrumming in his used muscles and the sweat splattered on his forehead. He’s about to go through the residential entrance when he spots Keith turning over the sign of the bakery, and decides to jog there.

Keith looks up as he gets nearer, and Shiro pushes the door open to let himself in as the warmth of the bakery greets him in one loving hug. “Hey,” he greets, a little breathless while he quickly closes back the door before all the cold air gets in.

“You’re up early for a Sunday morning,” Keith says as a greeting. He’s in his uniform, arms speckled with leftover flour from today’s work as he reaches for the tray he’s left on the counter to arrange the fresh goods.

Shiro gives out a small laugh. “Yeah, well, it looks like it’s a nice day out, so I thought I’d do the honours of trying out the park on my first day here.”

Keith hums, putting the last of the croissants before he turns to Shiro, bright-eyed despite the time he must’ve woken up to prep his bread. “How did you find it?”

Shiro shrugs. “It’s nice, and spacey. I like how Truth has flower crowns around her fountain, it puts a really nice touch to all the greens that’s happening.”

Instead of Truth coming out of her well, it’s Truth sitting in the middle of the fountain with a finger pointed to the distance in front of her. To shame mankind for the violation of peace, no doubt. The contorted anger twisting on her brows and the affronted gape of her mouth said as much.

“A group of teenagers started that around a couple of years ago before everyone else caught on,” Keith explains as he walks around the counter to slip into the kitchen. When he comes back out, he might’ve been smiling as he leans against the counter’s edge, but Shiro isn’t so sure. “It kinda became a trend after that, I think. There would be at least three of those flower crowns each day. Someone tried to put it on her head at one point, but they fell into the water.”

“Ouch.” Shiro winces. “That’s not fun.”

“Nope.” Keith tilts his head slightly. “Wanna join me and Hunk for breakfast? He’s making sunny side eggs to go with one of our new batch of bread, and some other stuff, if you’re interested.”

Shiro tries not to shuffle in place under Keith’s gaze. “I don’t want to intrude—“

“Hey, you basically live with us now. It’s not intruding,” Keith reminds him at the same time Hunk comes out from the back kitchen, hands holding onto plates of food.

Hunk grins. “Hey, Shiro! Wanna eat with us?”

The smell of bacon wafts around his nose, and there’s no stopping the gurgle in his stomach. Shiro discreetly presses a hand to it in hopes to prevent himself from announcing how he feels, or worse, embarasses himself in the process. “I shouldn’t—“

“Come on, I usually make extras so there’s a lot to pass around,” Hunk says, setting the plates on the small round table at the far corner of the shop, enough to fit four people, just beside the kitchen door. “Customers don’t usually come in until later in the weekends, so we have the time to ourselves for now. Just lemme get the mushrooms at the back for a second.”

As Hunk scampers away, Shiro glances at Keith, who only raises his eyebrows as if he’s daring Shiro to reject Hunk and all the hard work that’s being spread on the table.

That’s not going to happen, of course. Shiro steps forward and pulls onto one of the stools, and the triumph glint in Keith’s look as he takes a seat beside him makes Shiro look away quickly.

Hunk comes back out again, holding onto a bowl of sautéed mushrooms. “Dig in!”

It seems like there’s a thin-thread line between heaven and the food that’s being produced in the building they’re in. It must be, because the moment Shiro sinks his teeth into the warm buttered bread, he might have ascended a couple of inches above his seat.

It’s _amazing_. It’s only whole wheat bread. Shiro doesn’t know how they do it and frankly, if he gains weight, he might not care and he’d probably be alright with that.

With food like this, any problem can be solved and suddenly nothing else matters anymore.

Keith lets one corner of his mouth stretch up with faint amusement. “You look like you won a lottery.”

“I might’ve,” Shiro agrees, nodding his head slowly as he gazes down at the bread with all the love he’s able to spare. What a mood booster. He cuts a piece of his egg and bacon to put them on the bread, delighted. How revelational. “And the cinnamon roll you gave me yesterday? _Really_ good, by the way. I didn’t know what I expected but it’s definitely not all of what’s happening on there.”

“Wait.” Hunk points a mushroom at Keith, who shovels a forkful of everything into his mouth. “Is it the one with the chocolate sauce and caramel and almond bits on the top?”

Shiro nods for him. “Yeah, that.”

“I cannot believe you’re already using your new neighbour as your guinea pig,” Hunk says, causing Shiro to stop chewing, staring at them both. Noticing this, Hunk waves his hand in assurance. “No, it’s okay. Keith’s trying out new recipes. The only way for him to get validation is letting the nearest people he can get his hands on to try them first.”

“You make it sound as if I like to beg,” Keith grumbles, reaching for pepper. “I needed an outsider’s opinion. I can’t give my own criticism when I’m the one making it, it’s cheating. It’s like someone only added this pepper,” he gives the shaker a light jostle. “And some salt on their turkey and called it a meal.”

Hunk laughs. “I know. But, seeing you knock on everyone’s door and make them try your experiments is funny, though. They don’t seem to mind either.”

“Free food.” Shiro pipes up, and Hunk nods in agreement.

“See? Shiro gets it.” Hunk snaps his fingers. “Oh, you have to try the salted caramel stuffed doughnuts Keith made. It’s powdered with a light touch of icing sugar because you don’t wanna overwhelm the sweetness when you already have the caramel, so it’s a perfect mix of salty and sweet. Those usually sold out by noon. It’s a _hit._ ”

Keith rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee. “Hunk’s being modest. He does most of the brownies and cakes here and they sell out like, well,” he smiles, like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Hot cakes.”

Hunk lets out another bark of laughter.

“That’s terrible,” Shiro comments, grinning. “That’s a horrible thing to do. I’m going to leave this table and take my breakfast with me because of that.”

Keith shrugs, clearly not ashamed in giving out such atrocities in front anyone as he enjoys the rest of his food.

Shiro likes to think that the sense of calmness that settles above them has something to do with how this place, this bakery, is built. There’s something about the pale coloured walls, the way those transparent containers are stacked to the sides while a white round table stands proudly at the windows, showing off a replica of one of their tall and beautiful cakes. It might have something to do with the scent, the air in which the people who work here have put — it makes Shiro feel like he’s made the right choice.

It’s a nice feeling, one that he can get used to very quickly.

A customer announces their presence when the bell above the entrance door tinkles lightly, and Hunk is already standing up. “Time for work.”

Shiro watches him off, and is about to ask Keith how long would the bakery be opened on a Sunday when Shiro notices the way the man already has his gaze on him.

There’s a second where Shiro feels himself stiffen, caught off guard with the type of attention that comes from the landlord he’s only known for a little over a week, unsure how to react under Keith’s vivid concentration as if he’s trying to peel the layers off Shiro one by one with tactful agony.

He has no idea what to expect from this scrutinisation. There’s no judgement, nor the kind of morbid curiosity that would have gotten the best of them when Shiro makes himself blind to the stares. There isn’t the horrified surprise others would have had when they first see him, as if he’s the walking embodiment of a black cat crossing someone’s path.

It isn’t jarring anymore as it once was, but Shiro’s still waiting for an indication. He’s used to this, and he can wait.

“A relative of mine pulled you out of that plane,” Keith finally begins, voice low enough just for them to hear, the sharp _ding!_ of the cashier slashes between them like hot iron. Shiro feels his lungs collapse. Keith has his arm slung over the back of his chair, the perfect image of hung back that contradicts to this weighted sentence. “Last year. You were all over the news for a while.”

He has. For a week, at most. After Shiro gets himself discharged from the hospital, the news reporters stayed outside the house for another day before they left. It’s been quiet after that.

Shiro doesn’t know how to take this the way it is. He hasn’t had anyone recognise him as the crashed pilot for a long time ever since his hair turned all silver; people have only stared at him because of his missing arm, not because they made his connection to his disaster.

The food Shiro’s eaten sits heavily at the bottom of his stomach. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Your relative’s a B.O.M.?”

“Yeah.” Keith continues to hold his look, and Shiro doesn’t back down. “When you first stepped out of that room, I almost didn’t allow myself to believe that one of Galaxy Garrisons’ best astronauts was going to stay in my little building.”

Shiro gives him a wry smile. “I’m not an astronaut.”

“You were going to be.” Keith straightens himself up, dropping his elbows on the table. “Before that happened.”

“Yeah, well, that ship has sailed. Not much you can do up there when you’re an arm short for the job.” Shiro tears away first as he makes himself pick out the contents of his mug, counting the first three specks of excess coffee grain before glancing at Hunk’s direction. “Does he know?”

“Hunk? No.” Keith follows the way Shiro’s facing as they both watch how Hunk attends to another customer. “No, I don’t think so. If he does, he’ll let you know the moment he sees you.” Keith looks at back at him, and something softer eases along the lines of his eyes. “I know this might come off as intrusive to you, but making sure everyone has what they need is something I do the moment they stay here. I want everyone to be comfortable. You can tell me whenever you need anything. I know how it works.”

How it works. Having someone close in B.O.M. might give Keith the insight on how the operation spins, but Shiro knows how tight that organisation keep their cards to their chest, regardless of the ties they have. Mouthing off might not be something anyone would do, but Shiro doesn’t want to make assumptions. For all he knows, Keith just likes to be well-informed.

Again, Shiro has only known the man for less than a couple of weeks. He doesn’t have the right to make such thoughts when Keith just offered to tighten the security for him.

Shiro doesn’t know just how much Keith knows and doesn’t want to dig into that stitched wound anymore. It’s nice of him to put down such assistance on the table when they’ve only met, and Shiro gets the concern Keith is coming from when Shiro barely managed to avoid his own murder, but he doesn’t want to think of it.

“I’m sure your CCTVs would be able to catch any potential assassins lurking around to kill me again,” Shiro starts, offering a wry quirk of his mouth. “But, no. Thank you, but I’m fine with what I’m given. I’m just guilty my presence would bring so much threat to the people of this building. I can move out if you want to maintain top security here.”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” Keith interrupts, and Shiro is surprised at how insulted he appears to be at the suggestion. “I’m not trying to kick you out, I’m trying to make sure no one gets in. I’ve been doing that since I opened this place up. Look,” he adds quickly when Shiro feels himself go doubtful. “A bunch of gang members needed a place to stay, and I gave them a room to lay low from another gang, who’s framing these people because of some gang territorial issues I still don’t quite understand. Trespassing, or something.”

Shiro stares at him. “Gang members.”

“They paid their rent and cleaned up their mess before they left, I had no issues with them staying here. Cops were trying to sniff them out too, but, they didn’t have much luck either.”

“You hid a bunch of gang members from the law?”

“Mandatory obligation after these gang members helped me install the new security features that’s going around this place.” Keith stares him down. “The systems are all paid for.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t.” Shiro has no idea what to do with this. A gang feud happens and Keith takes it into his power to usher these helpless gang members into staying in his building, offering assistance when everyone knew not to cross paths with those kind of people. It’s impressive. And hot. “So, they just stayed here for a while and left? For how long?”

“Around a couple of weeks. They’re actually nice, if you look pass all the scars and missing fingers.”

Shiro leans back into his chair, having a full view how unbothered Keith is throughout the conversation. Shiro, who has dealt with numerous conflict before, has never been so thrown off the loop at such blatant disregard one would give out when talking about what shouldn’t be the norms of their life. “You’re a saint, then.”

For once, the demeanour breaks when Keith lets one side of his mouth jump up. “That’s a little too much. I just like to watch how they react when they try to connect my cute bakery with my slutty elevator.”

Shiro chuckles, acceptance latching onto his shoulders as he regards this kind of spontaneity as a frequent occurrence. He picks up his forgotten mug and finishes off the rest of his beverage. “Add a pole and you’d make more money with that.”

“An enlightening idea.” Keith lets his fingers drum against the table with one languid wave, almost like a queue. “I can do that with you too, you know. It’s not hiding per say, but people wouldn’t notice you enough to poke around.”

It’s relieving to know that Shiro doesn’t have to repack anything, and what weight that’s been hanging onto the edge of his ribs ebb away the longer he thinks about it; he’ll be fine, he’ll be safe. He can’t worry about it anymore. The vow he’s made to himself since those people are taken into custody should still stand strong.

He’s fine. They’re not coming.

When Shiro nods, it’s locking the notion in place with one firm slide. “I believe you.”

And Keith, who’s done more than he should, only answers back with a tilt of his head — as if it’s expected, as if it’s easy.

It’s a change of pace, for once. Shiro feels himself slowly accommodate to it.

He’s in the elevator after he tries to clean up after breakfast, but Keith shoos him away before he could bring his plate to the back. When Shiro unlocks his apartment door, the first thing he notices is how he forgets to sun the room before he left. There’s a glow behind the thick material of his curtains, and he walks towards them with quick steps.

It’s taking hold of the edges, it’s wrenching them apart with more force than strictly necessary as he bares his living room to the morning sun’s glare.

A soft exhale escapes through his teeth.

The first thing he sees are two cats on his garden table. One is a full black beauty with luscious looking fur and one is a short-haired ginger with a white undercarriage that trails to its front paws, mimicking as pants. They’re both nosing around the little succulents from where they’re squeezed together on the surface of the small garden table, and don’t seem to notice him there

Opening its mouth, the ginger cat starts to nibble on one of his plants.

“Hey,” Shiro starts, unlocking the sliding door until the two cats flinch at the sudden sound, scrambling back when he pushes the door aside to poke his head out. The cats jump onto the railing of his balcony, regarding him warily while their ears are pushed back, clearly disgruntled at the intrusion. Shiro grunts back in response. “Don’t eat those.”

Both cats have collars around their neck, white and purple for each black and ginger cat respectively, and Shiro thinks they might belong to one of the neighbours on the upper floor from how well-poised and groomed they are.

Keith probably allowed animals if that’s why they’re here.

Shiro huffs out a breath, thinks of how the round eyes of those cats seem a little too intense as they continue to only stare at him wordlessly, and reverses back into his apartment to take a shower.

 

* * *

 

“You know what would be a really good colour for my walls?” Shiro has his hand on his hip, regarding said wall from where he’s standing right in the middle of the living room. 

It’s been three months since he moved in, and he has finally gotten rid of the box TV.

“What?” Keith crouches near the new flat screen TV Shiro bought earlier that day, looking through the manual while holding onto a screwdriver.

“No, I mean, I’m asking you what would be a good colour here.” Shiro clicks his tongue, eyeing the stained yellow splotches that occupy at the corner. It’s hardly recognisable from where they’re mostly in the darker parts of the faded wallpaper. “The blue stripes have to go. It feels like I’m living in a Bananas in Pajamas dimension and one day, two large yellow fruit-sonas are gonna kick down my door and claim back what’s theirs.”

Keith laughs. “Fruit-sonas, Shiro, really?”

“In my defense, that’s the only word I can think of to describe them now.”

“You could’ve just said ‘individuals’ or something.”

Shiro scrunches his forehead in mock innocence. “Large yellow individuals, then.”

Keith shakes his head in quiet disbelief, setting aside the manual and the screwdriver on the floor before pushing himself up. He turns toward the wall from where he stands, taking one long look of it himself with his hands on his hips, before glancing back at Shiro with a grin. “Think I should start saying ‘Cheese and Whiskers’ every time something bad happens?”

“Don’t, please,” Shiro says with a shaky grin as Keith walks backwards to stand beside him. “I’m imagining you in those big shoes and overalls and,” Shiro snorts out a chuckle, waving his hand helplessly as the image starts to sear deeper into his mind. “I can’t. What even made you chose this?”

“For some reason, I was in a hurry that day and grabbed whatever I got my hands on. But, it was also one of those that had been on sale.” Keith slides a palm down the side of his face, still decidedly amused as both of them continue to appraise his poor life choice. “It also turned out to be one of the ugliest things I had ever laid eyes on but, I already paid for it. The first people who stayed here had to suffer for a while before they changed it.”

“Including me.” Shiro nudges Keith with his elbow, who peered at him in question. “Off white is a good substitute, don’t you think?”

Keith shrugs. “Plain colours pretty much match with everything.”

“Yeah, but you gotta pick the ones that fit with your whole place.” Shiro gestures at his brown couch. “Like, what goes with this?”

“Off white, like you said?” Keith hums, falling onto the couch in one ungraceful heap, before sliding down to get comfortable with his hands folded on his stomach. “Or yellow. It’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“The sunrise already comes in from this side. Any brighter, this place is going to be a tanning room.” Shiro reaches for the remote on the side cabinet and switches the TV on. “How about green? Mint green, not M&M’s green.” He pauses. “Actually, very dark green is good too.”

“Very nature-y,” Keith comments. “It’ll match with the little plants you have out at the balcony, though. And the white shelves and this old brown sofa.” He pats the empty space beside him, as if urging Shiro to sit there, and he almost contemplates on doing so when the motion calls out to him more than he likes to admit. He remains where he is and begins surfing through the channels.

“True, and I like cream too. Do you think duo colours would work?”

“With this kind of space? Yeah, sure.”

Shiro gives out his agreement, the channel he leaves to play shows an action movie he faintly recalls watching a couple of years back. When he faces Keith, the man has his attention partially on the screen. Shiro swallows the grating ball down his throat, straightening his back a bit. “Wanna go paint shopping with me? I could use some input.”

Keith gives him a smile. “After I chose the stripes, you still want my input on wall decoration?”

“Hey, you were in a hurry, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

Keith considers it for a moment, before pushing himself up. “Alright. I’ll tag along since I don’t have anything to do after this.”

A thrill zaps down his spine at the acceptance, causing Shiro to press his lips together to avoid broadcasting how he feels. It’s pathetic. It’s being rooted to the floors of his living room as his eyes follow the way Keith makes a grab for his jacket he left on the counter, swinging it around to slip his arms into the required holes with one languid roll of his lithe body that Shiro can’t make himself stop staring.

Keith shakes his pockets to make sure he still has his keys, before turning around to meet Shiro’s tuned out gaze. Keith cocks up an eyebrow in inquiry. “We’re going now, right?”

Shiro feels his soul drop to the bottom of his feet with one heavy fall at being caught, stuttering to collect his bearings again as he parts his mouth. Unable to reply in fear of squeaking out a word, he snaps it shut, gives out a jerky nod, and quickly makes his way towards his bedroom to have his own keys and jacket while the tail tale beginnings of heat creeps up his neck.

They pick the two colours as chosen at the nearest store, loading cans of them at the back of Shiro’s car before they swing by McDonald’s to buy a couple of large fries and Keith’s black coffee. Shiro gives him a face, gets Keith to roll his eyes as he takes a loud sip, and then Shiro’s letting out chortles when Keith shouts at how hot it is and how it’s scalding his tongue.

“This is what happens when you order it pure black,” Shiro says, reaching into the paper bag to take out some fries. Keith has one hand on the wheel while grumbling under his breath, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his dark jacket. “McDonald’s is the happy place. Coffee is the opposite.”

“False. Coffee makes me not kill people for thinking they’re better than anyone else just because they _don’t_ drink coffee.” Keith side eyes him. “Tea drinkers are usually like that.”

“Hey, I _do_ drink coffee. Both, actually. But, I don’t do it at McDonald’s, and I add some creamer into my coffee the very least. Yours is just pure abomination.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re jealous,” Keith sniffs. “Does this bring me joy?” He lifts the cup of coffee near his head as an indication, gaze on the road. “Yes. Yes, it does. Which means, I should keep it with me now.”

“Don’t sully Marie Kondo’s name on the expense of black, bitter coffee.”

“She wants me to be happy, Shiro.”

When they get back, they throw large transparent sheets of plastic over Shiro’s furniture, pushing cabinets and tables to the middle of the clearing to make painting easier, before tearing away all the old wallpaper until the walls are bared.

Shiro gets his paint roller and begins to dunk it in white paint at one side of the room, while Keith has the green ones on the other side.

“Did you always wanted to do this?” Shiro asks as Keith tears the package away from his own roller, scrunching it in up in one big ball before shoving it into the trash can near him. “Make cakes and desserts? All the bread?”

“Be a baker, you mean,” Keith clarifies, using his key to open one of the cans from where he’s bent down. His nose twitches a bit at the smell, dunking his roller with the paint, before he picks his head up to look at Shiro in the eye. “Why, though?”

“I saw you talking to someone in a Bentley the other day,” Shiro begins, a little nervous because the look in Keith’s eye sharpens with attention as he straightens himself up. “I was at the balcony repotting my succulents when I heard you talking— not that I mean to do that too,” Shiro continues quickly. He feels like he’s saying too much, tries to make the repetitive push of his roller calm him down. “It’s just that I accidentally heard you, and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but you called the lady at the back your ‘mum’?”

There’s a pause that lasts far too long for Shiro’s nerves, but then Keith’s already mimicking his action by dragging a stripe of green in front of him. “Yeah, my mum came and visit for a while before she had to leave for another meeting.” Keith hums thoughtfully. “Are you asking why I’m living in a place like this when my mother is in a ride like that?”

Feeling himself heating up in embarrassment, Shiro resorts in clearing his throat slightly. “No. I mean, I was thinking how this place wouldn’t be here without you and that you’d be doing something else?”

 _You’re so damn nosy, Shirogane_.

“That I would’ve been the heir that I was expected to be.” When Shiro glances at him, Keith is still painting, focused on the job. “Taking over the chair, be the big boss. Her sort of thing.” Keith shrugs. “And you’re right, Kogane’s wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, something awful churning in his gut at how he should’ve just shut his mouth. He can’t just let the subject hang between them now, not when he‘s yanked it out in the open. “What changed?”

“Personal interest, mostly.” Keith is smiling now. “I’ve been trained to take over the company since I was teenager. Once degree is out of the way, I would’ve just followed where most people had expected me to do, which is doing that kind of business. I went along with the training and stuff, because I still wasn’t exactly sure I wanted, even though I don’t exactly mind about the corporation.” Then, he lets out a huff of fond laughter. “But then, Mum realised I was more interested being in the kitchen even though I was good with the business side.”

Shiro might have an idea how the talk went. “So, she gave you a nudge?”

“Pretty much. Told me to handle everything from scratch if I wanna open up the bakery, it’s ‘putting those studies to good use’, she said.” Keith lets out another short puff of laughter. “And then, I was hiring Hunk and the others from the best schools, made a whole bunch of desserts for a whole bunch of events. It’s been a few years, and Kogane’s grew since then.”

“It must be nice.”

“It is,” Keith agrees, and when he turns around to give Shiro another one of his soft smiles, clearly hooked in the middle of the love he receives from his mother, Shiro can’t help but feel the way his heart stutters, roller slowing down slightly. “My dad started with all of the baking, though, and I picked it up when I was a kid. Hence, the name of the bakery.”

“Kogane’s,” Shiro realises, and Keith nods.

“Yeah. He usually does all the cooking too since he finishes up work earlier, and I would help with whatever I can when his work got a little too rough that day.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a firefighter,” Keith says, and then, he’s stretching up to reach for the higher parts of the walls. “Does morning shifts instead of night ones now, so at least, he’s getting the rest he deserves.”

Shiro smiles. “He must be proud of you and your mum.”

Keith pauses, looking over his shoulder to meet Shiro’s gaze with a faint look of surprise. And then, Keith is smiling too. “Yeah, he is actually.”

When they’re done, it’s dark out, the last moments of twilight spilled with dark purple as Shiro sees Keith off from the door. When they’re done, it’s having to notice how some of the paint has smeared on Keith’s cheek the same way dough would.

In every moment, when something like that makes an appearance, it’s getting harder for Shiro to hold back his need to wipe them away with his fingers.

One day, when Shiro isn’t careful, isn’t reminding himself to not be foolish, he would already be doing something that says otherwise.

As of now, he relishes on the last smile Keith gives him as he waves goodbye, before shutting the door to his apartment close.

Shiro sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, helpless in how the corners of his mouth twitch with the way quiet elation burns in his chest, before he steps inside his own apartment.

 

* * *

 

4:45AM.

Shiro stares blearily at the time from behind the wheel, slumped against the driver’s seat while the leftover chill of the car’s air conditioner still wafts around in the confined space, car ignition switched off. He’s tired, the fifty minute journey back seeps more of his remaining energy, and something in his limbs is heavy with an ache he refuses to acknowledge. The apartment the Garrison provided him for the past two nights has only seen glimpses of him; he uses it to shower, to take a nap more than to sleep, before he’s off. 

Shiro thinks he could’ve just used the locker rooms to clean himself up, but Iverson insists. Shiro doesn’t argue, but he’s fallen asleep more on his desk than the bed that’s been given.

When he steps out, duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he feels how the chill is getting worse as Autumn is at its peak, and Shiro’s glad he’s wearing extra clothing as he shoves his hand into his jacket pocket, slamming the car door close with his elbow. Going up the residential entrance, he notices how there’s light coming through the drapes of the kitchen when he peers through the grilled door.

Keith must already be up then. He’s always half an hour earlier than the rest of them; preparing the dough, reheating the ovens — Shiro knows, because this isn’t the first time he has to sneak in after a long day of work.

While his shoulders are already drooping with exhaustion, the need to close his eyes isn’t appealing just yet. His mind is still flashing out numbers, laws, code of conducts; the leftover adrenaline that comes from discussing about the future the Garrison hasn’t able to get from him is a thin layer of grime on top of his skin.

Shiro stares at the key card he holds in his hand, before swiping it against the sensor of the connecting door that leads to the bakery and steps inside. There’s enough light for him to manoeuvre around the counter, and then he’s pushing aside the short curtain to see Keith putting in a batch of small looking dough into the oven with a baking peel.

Keith glances over his shoulder, and notices Shiro from where he’s gripping the long tool. “Hey.” Keith reaches into the back of the oven to make space for more, picking them up one by one from the trolley. “You’re home late.”

 _Home_. The word strikes something as peculiar as Shiro watches Keith in this white apron he always wears whenever he’s working, scooping more of those dough as they quickly fill up the oven, the scrape of the peel scratching against the bricks fills in the gap between them.

The heat that comes out of the opened oven eliminates whatever cold Shiro’s felt in the beginning, making him feel uncomfortably warmer as he sheds his jacket, wincing a bit when his shoulder pops. “Can I help?” He asks instead, mishapingly folds the black article before shoving it into his bag.

If anything, Shiro would consider Kogane’s as a prestige bakery, one of the best in town. It’s a fact. What he doesn’t understand is how he would ever suggest to defile that title with his offer.

Keith looks over his shoulder, surprised more than anything as he puts in the last piece. “I don’t mind. But, aren’t you tired?”

Shiro gives him a wane smile. “I don’t think I’d be able to sleep anyway.”

He looks around then, and realisation smacks at the back of his head when he sees all the tools and goods spread on the counter, some bowls and cups stacked near them. He shakes his head, feeling absurd at himself. “Wait, you know what? I’m being ridiculous. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you—“

“Shiro, it’s alright.” Keith has already put aside the peel, wiping his hands on his apron as he walks towards Shiro, stopping just in front of him that’s enough for Shiro to see the worry in the furrow of his brows. “I don’t mind, you know.”

“Yeah, but I also just realised that I don’t want to destroy your work.” Shiro shifts his weight to one side, sees how the deep, deep purple of those eyes remain on him, almost expectant. “Maybe, I’m more tired than I think.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Keith says, gaze flitting over the stripes and badges Shiro wears on his olive green uniform. The gold on his chest gleams under the light. “I can’t imagine the work you’re doing if this is what you’re wearing everyday.” Keith looks up, and Shiro prevents himself from shifting in place again when he’s under Keith’s piercing interest. “Captain Shirogane, huh?”

“Just a title.” Shiro allows one corner of his mouth to twitch up. “I’d be more excited if I was in an actual plane than being holed up in an office, but here we are.”

“Here we are.” Keith echoes, tone soft, marvelling the situation at hand.

Shiro realises some sort of solidarity is formed under the circumstances they’ve been pushed into, existing in their box of ‘what-ifs’, unearthing other roads as they paved their own. Perhaps, under different rules, under different days of the week where Shiro doesn’t lose an arm, he would’ve met Keith in a reality where satisfactions are met.

His satisfactions. Shiro’s. Keith is already living his dream and that should stay the same.

“How about you help me with the decoration?”

Shiro blinks. “Decoration?”

“With these.” Keith tracks towards the trolley, bending down to pull out a tray of cookies. When Shiro takes a look, he realises they’re all shaped into little bats, and another tray of them are shaped into ghosts. They’re endearing, well made, and they’re as big as the size of his palm.

“They need some icing, and then you can put some toppings I’ve put aside.” Keith lays them on the island, before taking out another tray that has pumpkin-shaped cookies. Taking hold on one of the piping bags, Keith shakes them loose before reaching for the covered bowl by the side, offering Shiro a reassuring smile when he stares at all the baked goods in front of him. “I’ll show you how.”

He does, all while talking about how Kogane’s would at least make something special once a month. Since it’s October, the team has been throwing ideas on what kind of Halloween pastries that would catch their customers’ attention. The icing cookies are a must, since those are one of their specials. There are cupcakes, brownies, eclairs, and a few others Keith lists off while Shiro shakes glitters onto the ghosts cookies, before putting black marzipan ovals as eyes and sharper zigzagging shapes as mouths.

“Since last month had International Literacy Day and International Sudoku Day, we mostly made cookies for those events too,” Keith added, finishing the last batch of ghosts. “We had the Sherlock Holmes iconic profile, Hogwarts crests, some authors, and quotes. The fortune cookies ran out fast, though.”

“Oh, so, that was what those for? I wanted to ask but had to rush out.”

“I saved you a couple of those Hufflepuff badges, remember?”

Shiro listens, watches how Keith sets aside the filled piping bag to pick up another as he moves onto the pumpkins. His hands are steady as he squeezes out the bright orange icing, gentle and sure, letting it spread evenly before moving on to another cookie.

Shiro listens, content, as he nods everytime Keith glances up to see if he’s listening, a strand of hair escaping from behind his ear at one point before it sways under his movement. It’s nice. The warmth of the oven lulls the air around them until Shiro is leaning against the island, taking in what Keith says in that soft tone of his, as if he’s tentative with breaking this kind of atmosphere they’ve put themselves in.

It isn’t until Hunk arrives, who’s surprised to see Shiro in the kitchen as the man walks in from the back door. Shiro takes that as his queue to leave, waving tiredly at them both before he makes his way up to his apartment.

Shiro doesn’t bother with the curtains as he makes a beeline towards his bedroom, tossing his bag by the side of his bed while toeing off his shoes, and then he’s throwing himself onto his mattress with a loud groan.

He’s asleep the next minute.

When Shiro wakes up, the clothes he wears from before are all wrinkled, he’s still on top of his duvet, and the feeling of sleeping through the whole morning and afternoon hangs heavily onto his bones. He still feels tired, miserably so, and the dark room isn’t helping the distortion that fuzzes around his mind as he blinks away the last of his sleep.

He digs a thumb at the corner of his eye to get rid of the crust that sits there, grunting.

He still has work to do, and Shiro takes his time in cleaning himself up before he’s scarfing down leftovers from the fridge, going through his phone as multiple emails demand his attention. After he puts the dishes away, he’s plopping down on the sofa with his tablet, feet perched on top of the coffee table.

He works again until it’s almost night, and the reason he even notices the time is because there’s a racket that’s going on outside his door.

Shiro feels himself submerged from his thick layer of concentration as he carefully stares at his door, noticing how the patter of feet running up and down the hallway sounds a little muted than usual, as if the person tries to be quiet for his sake. Curious, and already having an idea on who it is, Shiro sets aside his tablet on the table and gets up.

When he opens the door, the first thing Shiro sees is balls of ginger and black fur dashing down the corridor. It’s having to notice how Red has a potholder in her mouth while Black tries to catch onto the trailing white tag stitched at its seams.

The next thing he realises is Keith chasing after them. He has his arm stretched to the front, a small piece of chicken in hand, his legs bend a bit to supposedly be at their level — he’s fast-walking with a same posture of a crab.

And he’s shirtless, shoeless, and only wears a pair of sweatpants while he’s hot on his cats’ tails.

Shiro finds himself appreciating the muscles on Keith’s back as he lunges forward to try and make a grab for one of his cats. Shiro lets his eyes drag down the curve of his spine, the strength his arms carry. They’re not as big as Shiro’s, but Shiro knows that Keith at least carries some weights here and then. Making a lot of bread probably helps too.

Shiro snaps himself out, face heating up quickly. _Don’t be a creep, Shirogane._

“Red, come _on._ ”

Shiro chuckles under his breath, leaning against his door frame. “Should I be concerned?”

“I’m living with a couple of criminals,” Keith grunts out, stopping his pursuit with a frustrated ruffle of his hair, making his dark mane fluff up more. “They always do this. They steal things, hide them around the apartment, and then it’s treasure hunting for me.”

“They probably want your attention,” Shiro says, keeping his gaze strictly on Keith’s face as the man bounds over to where he stands. “My grandfather had a cat once. She wouldn’t get off my homework until I gave her belly rubs.” Keith lets out a sympathetic noise. “Atlas lived a long life. I miss her squashed face and choked purrs.”

Keith looks alarmed at the statement, causing Shiro to shrug. “I don’t know. She was always like that since we found her as a kitten.”

“She sounds like an angel compared to those two,” Keith harrumphs, waving towards where both cats are currently near the doors of the lift, the piece of chicken he still has in his possession flapping from the gesture. The cats are still playing with the potholder, rolling around and biting it that Keith may need a new one later. “Did you know I found a whole collection of missing socks under my fridge? I thought I was going nuts from how they kept missing from my drawers, but _apparently_ ,”

Keith gestures towards Red and Black again, who are getting nearer towards their way as they throw and roll around with the potholder. Keith lowers himself down to a squat, eyes narrowed on them. “Come to daddy.”

Shiro almost chokes on his own tongue, roughly stomping down on any slightest flicker of unwanted thrill.

“Thought of using a toy to lure them in?” Shiro asks, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. He mimics Keith’s posture as Shiro takes the piece of chicken from him, trying to tantalise the cats by waving it around.

“I did. All the mice and feather wands are part of the pit of doom now.”

Shiro tuts. “My condolences.”

The cats have lost their attention on the potholder as they play around with each other, nipping and rolling across the floor, moving in a horrendous movement of fur and excited chirping as they sprint from one side of the corridor to another.

That is, until they make the mistake of being near enough for Keith to scoop them both up with a triumph “Ha!”.

Keith falls back against the wall from the extra weight, letting out a huff as they try to bite him too. “Hey, stop it.”

“They’re a handful,” Shiro laughs, reaching out to scratch under Black’s chin, whose mouth is opened halfway to bite Keith’s wrist, and he’s stuck in that position while the sensation of Shiro’s petting has the cat’s eyes lowered in content and annoyance. It’s a confusing feeling, and Shiro smoothens out his finger down Black’s throat and over his eyes for a few times before the cat finally calms down.

Keith snorts, who only watches the way Shiro reaches out to offer Red the piece of chicken. Red gives it a sniff, nibbling on it for a taste before tugging it from his fingers. “Yeah, they are but,” and then, Keith is lifting both his cats to each side of his head, effectively bringing them close together in one squeeze of a hug. “I love them.”

Shiro finds himself staring dumbfoundedly at how the situation that’s being unravel seamlessly before him then, at how he’s watching the way Keith has his face almost obscured by the fur of his two large cats as he gives them affectionate cheek rubs.

It’s the most cutest thing Shiro has ever encountered in his life. If flowers could sprout up right then, he won’t question it. His heart is singing praises. He wants to go back inside for his phone to snap a photo or hundred just to keep them in his gallery, but he doesn’t want to miss more of this blessed encounter if he can.

Shiro watches Keith cradle his cats to his chest like they’re his babies, arms wrapped around their bodies, and then Shiro realises with a snap that this is it. This is the chance he’s been waiting for. He might not have any time of the day if he doesn’t make the move first, and there’s no way of knowing if he’s able to even have this kind of bravery again when determination is a large bonfire in his chest.

It’s seeing this, the way Keith leans down to plant a kiss on each of his cats’ heads. Shiro doesn’t stop the tumble of words when he lets out, “Wanna have dinner with me?”

Keith pauses, whipping his head up to sear his widening eyes into Shiro’s as surprise burns bright in his tensed posture. The cats are restless from being smothered too much, and wiggle out of his embrace when their master gives no indication of ever stopping them.

Shiro swallows, wiping the bridge of his nose with his thumb as he clears his throat, before soldiering on. “I was thinking of making mac and cheese, the special kind with five types of cheese and some bacon. And chicken. It’s, uh, something I saw from a cooking account on Instagram, so I thought I’d try it.”

“Oh.” Keith lets out.

“ _Yeah_.” It’s a little forced than than he would’ve wanted, and Shiro is giving out a short, nervous bout of laughter as he rubs the back of his neck. “I just— since you’ve been helping me all this time after I first moved in, I thought I, uh, wanna return the favour.” He blows out a puff of breath. “It’s the least I can do, really.”

Shiro doesn’t know if he wants to crawl under the floorboards and disappear or just jump into his apartment without a further notice, but. _But._ Keith is smiling, amused more than anything, and Shiro can’t stop the delight from taking over his whole body at his next response.

“Sure.” Keith says, and Shiro feels a grin springing up his cheeks, unprompted.

Keith looks away with an embarrassed smile of his own as he stands up. When he looks down at Shiro, the ceiling light above Keith’s head provides a glow with the same grace of an angel, where it catches the wispy strands of his ink dark hair and the sculptured slope of his broad shoulders. Shiro can’t help but stare back at him in quiet awe, not moving from his spot anytime soon when Keith adds, “Just let me get a shirt, and I’ll be over at your place later, if that’s okay?”

Stricken to silence by the mere presence of this man, Shiro nods.

Keith clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in acceptance, nodding back almost subconsciously, before he twists around on the balls of his feet and makes a straight walk towards his own apartment. He doesn’t look back when he closes his door, almost in a hurry to do so.

Shiro lets out a giggle before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. When there’s no indication of anyone hearing him, Shiro blows out a huge breath, unable to stop the grin as it stretches wide at the corner of his lips.

If his reaction is caught on camera, anyone would be able to see how goofy he looks when he scrambles up from the floor, absolutely having no regards to the world around him at the moment as clouds of ecstasy hover under his feet, seamlessly letting him glide into his apartment.

 

* * *

 

“I think we did a pretty good job,” Shiro says. “Those are nice trees.” 

“They better be,” Keith grumbles, digging his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “We just spent an hour walking around looking for them in the cold.”

Shiro flickers his gaze away from the men tying their trees to Keith’s pickup truck. “You really hate snow, don’t you?”

“I was brought up in the middle of Arizona heat for the first seventeen years of my life before I moved out,” Keith sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his gloved hand. “Dusty sands and heat strokes? Sure. This?” He uses the tip of his boot to kick at some white slosh. “Pass.”

“Even though it’s been years?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s too bad.” Shiro turns back towards the trees, unable to help himself from seeing them as a very bushy appendage to the car. “I like the cold.”

“You do that. I’d hug the sun now, to be honest.”

Shiro smiles, angling his head towards the direction of the café across the street, puffs of smoke wafting out of the bricked red chimney. It has blinking lights twinkling in its reds and greens and blues trailed from one edge of the building to the other. A lone perfectly shaped snowman smiles brightly at them near the entrance, stick hand raised in greeting. “We could get something to warm us up before we leave.”

Keith brightens, tightening the red scarf he has wrapped around his neck. “Let’s go.”

Once they’ve paid and shook hands with the men, Shiro and Keith trot towards the pull of warmth calling out to them from the windows of the cafe. When Shiro pushes the door open, it’s having the strong smell of coffee and baked goods smack into his face, the low murmur of the people enveloping them in one loving hug.

Keith rubs his hands together, making a beeline towards the counter that Shiro only follows.

Once Shiro finds himself staring at some treats in the commercial fridge, he can’t help but compare them a bit to the ones at Kogane’s. It’s unfair, of course, but it seems this café has a theme going on where everything has at least a small dollop of whipped cream to go with their dessert. There are different flavours, but a pie or a piece of cake has to have one teardrop shaped whipped cream at least.

Shiro glances at Keith, who’s giving his order to the waiter. Shiro’s spoiled rotten with his cooking that everything else doesn’t give him the same spark.

“You want anything?” Keith asks, and Shiro lifts his head to scan through the menu written on the stretch of blackboard above the cashier’s head.

“Yeah.” Shiro digs for his wallet. “An espresso, please.”

Once they’ve taken their seats somewhere deeper in the cafe to avoid the opening door, Shiro realises this is the first time they’re spending alone together since dinner at his place. He tries not to blush. That had been a couple of weeks ago.

They’ve been so busy with their own work that they barely see each other than the occasional corridor pass, giving a quick greeting whenever they can, or Shiro just waves from afar as he leaves the building while Keith’s exchanging punches with rolls of dough.

The cloud of flour bursting into the air every time he kneads makes it look as if Keith’s tousling with a lion in a coliseum. It’s dusty, and every surface near him has gotten white from it, like he’s been kicking sand with every scuffle. It’s very dramatic.

It’s only yesterday, where Shiro finally unlocked his apartment door after another night at the Garrison does he see Keith walking out of the elevator, rubbing his face with a tired hand.

“Long day?” Shiro calls out, causing Keith to snap his head up in surprise.

“Hey, Shiro. You’re back.” Keith then chuckles, bringing his hand to rub his nape instead. “Yeah, just finished posting out the last five boxes of cupcakes for a birthday party tomorrow. Before that, we had two three-tier cakes and a carrot cake.”

Shiro lets out a sympathetic hum. “That time of the year, huh?”

“You could say that.” By then, Keith’s already standing in front of him, where Shiro has all but turn around to face him fully. “How about you? You’re a ghost at this point.”

Shiro laughs. “Like I said, it’s that time of the year. We‘re trying to finish off everything we can before Christmas so that everyone wouldn’t have to miss out with their family. It’s like a tornado dropped down from the sky and made a mess of the whole building.”

“And I’ve seen tornadoes up close,” Keith jokes. “Can’t say they’re the prettiest things nature has to offer.”

Shiro laughs again because it’s easy, and it’s because he feels he wants to keep this conversation going despite the way exhaustion is weighing heavily on his shoulders, tugging him to the direction of his bed from the other side of his door. He leans against it instead. “I was thinking of getting a tree for my apartment tomorrow, just a drive out of the city for a break. Wanna join me?”

Keith seems to think about it first before he shrugs. “Why not? Some fresh air might be good.”

Shiro beams. “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

After that, it is tomorrow. And then, after scourging through the field to find their own trees, all while Keith mumbling out how everything is too wet and too cold, they’re sitting in this café with their own warm mugs. Like friends usually do after spending half the day together. Not like Shiro made it seem like this is a date.

“You’re coming to my party, right?”

Shiro blinks. “I wasn’t aware there’s a party?”

“Oh, I didn’t say anything yet?” Keith frowns. “And yeah, I’m holding up a party at my apartment on the twenty-sixth. Everyone in the building is invited, along with my family and some of my friends.” Keith takes a sip of his beverage. “You should drop by, unless you have something else going on, but I’d like you to come.”

The only plan Shiro has is spending some time with the Holts, but he’ll be free after that. It’s perfect timing.

“Yeah, that’d be nice actually. You want me to help with anything?”

“Nah, I got it covered. Besides,” Keith grins then. “You’re in for a treat.”

Shiro quirks up an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

Keith looks suspiciously gleeful in the way he lightly shrugs, refusing to say anything as he continues to drink his latte.

Shiro leans back against his chair to eye him properly. “The only time you have that look was when you went on a rampage on that four-tier unicorn cake for some kid’s birthday. Flowers and golden film were everywhere. What are you making, Keith?”

Keith snickers, waggling his finger. “You’ll see.”

Shiro does see, eventually.

It’s been a couple of hours since Shiro got back from the Holts, where he’s spent his Christmas with them like he usually does and goes through the day by trying to not to choke on his mashed potatoes when Colleen suddenly asks him about the nice landlord of the building he’s staying in.

Matt only cuts through his turkey when Shiro swivels a glare at his way, loudly making a statement how his mother did the best food in the whole city.

And now that Shiro’s back, he’s already making his way towards Keith’s apartment a little earlier than the time required. It’s to help him, Shiro assures himself, knocking on the door. Because Keith said he’ll be doing everything and Shiro feels a little guilty he’s bringing in empty handed to a party.

When the door swings open, the first thing Shiro sees is Keith; a little wild around the hair and is already in his deep red dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a hand towel slung over his shoulder while his hands are smeared with what looked like cranberry sauce. His eyes are a little bright, and there’s a smile on his face when he realises it’s Shiro.

It makes him a little weak in the knees, if Shiro has to admit it to himself.

He’s opening his mouth, trying to think of a greeting that doesn’t sound like he’d been choking on a bone as his eyes wander over Keith’s shoulder. And then, Shiro blinks.

Whatever madness Keith cooked up turns out to be a very large gingerbread cottage surrounded with ungodly amounts of candy.

Shiro stares at the beast perched on the dining table. “That’s what you’ve been working on?”

“What?” Keith turns around, and lets out a snort. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Jesus,” Shiro mutters, walking in when Keith steps aside. Shiro nears himself towards the cottage, gaze flickering across the marshmallow roof and the M&M driveway. Mini Reese’s cups are used as flower pots, candy canes as fences, with numerous other candy until the gingerbread surface almost got buried underneath them. Even the gingerbread family standing in front of their door have gumdrops as their buttons. “This is amazing!”

“I mean,” Keith starts, hand gesturing wildly in supposed embarrassment. “I do what I can, but thanks.”

“Oh! You have white rabbit, that’s cool.” Shiro plucks one from the small bowl, unwrapping the white candy before plopping it into his mouth as he follows Keith back to the kitchen. “I haven’t had one of these for years, I miss it.”

“It’s so hard to find those, I had to go to an actual candy shop instead of buying it at the normal grocery store.” Keith starts to rearrange the small pies on a serving plate. “Now, I keep a stash. Good ol’ white rabbit.”

Shiro takes the plate off the counter once Keith moves onto serving other pastries. “I am going to buy bags of those and keep them with me.”

“I’ll pass you a bag first later, just don’t forget to remind me.”

Gradually, their neighbours come filling in, greeting Keith and Shiro enthusiastically as they shake hands and pat each other’s backs before Keith’s other guests come knocking on the door as well. It’s half an hour later that most of them have arrived, chatter and laughter drifting around as they all mingle.

Shiro finds himself talking to one of the B.O.M. members along the way, where the tall man with white streaks on each side of his head introduces himself as Kolivan when Shiro asks. When they shake hands, Shiro realises he’s talking to the leader of the organisation that saved him from his crash all those months ago — a little over a year already, to be exact.

If this is the relative Keith mentioned before, Shiro should thank him properly.

“We’re just doing our job,” Kolivan assures him. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

And then, time passes, the company around him rotates, and Shiro finds himself standing next to a tall woman who has Keith’s face shape at the punch section.

She glances at him as she refills her glass. “Shiro, yes?”

Shiro startles, not expecting to be acknowledged first. “I— uh, yes.”

She smiles, setting down the ladle before she’s offering a hand for him to shake. “I’m Krolia, Keith’s mother. He told me someone managed to rent out the room down the corridor, and said it was you.”

Shiro puts down his glass to meet the clasp of her hand, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you. And yes, I was looking for an apartment to stay when I saw the sign at the door, so I thought I’d check it out and kinda fell in love with the place after Hunk gave me a tour.”

Technically, he’s not _lying_ , per say. He _was_ looking for a place to live in even though he had two other places booked for him. And he _does_ like his current apartment, or he wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

There are just alterations in the story that she doesn’t need to know. Also, Shiro refuses to admit something that could make Matt bray with delight.

The corner of her mouth twitches. “The decor isn’t something you’d expect at first glance, is it?”

Shiro laughs. “I almost got whiplash, if I’m honest. But, Keith has good taste, that I can say.”

“Sure, if you want to dance to Prince in that elevator.”

“Are you still going on about my elevator?”

When Shiro turns around, it’s having Keith raising an eyebrow at his mother. “It’s been years. I’m not going to change it.”

Krolia waves away his look. “I’m not saying you should change it. I was just sharing with Shiro the first time basis when stepping into your own mini stripper club.” Something glints in her eye. “Who knows, that could still be in business.”

Shiro almost chokes on his punch while Keith flushes red. He grunts. “Dad’s calling for you, by the way.”

“I shouldn’t keep him waiting then.” Krolia smiles at Shiro. “It was nice meeting you too, Shiro.”

Krolia gives one last wave before stepping away, walking towards where her husband is sitting on the sofa with Kolivan and other people that worked as B.O.M. agents, the group of them having pleasant conversation in their loud boisterous laughter.

“Well, that’s something I don’t want to think about, ever.” Keith says, picking up the empty plates to refill with more pastries.

“I like your mum.” Shiro says, helping out as he brings the last plate to the kitchen with Keith.

“Everyone does,” Keith replies, settling them all onto the counter while Shiro reaches for the box of cream puffs. “She’s very likable.”

When Shiro looks over where Krolia is, it’s seeing the way Keith’s dad —Heath— dropping a kiss onto her forehead while she grins widely at him. “Could understand why your parents got together.”

Keith laughs softly. “Yeah, they’re stupidly in love if anything. Everyone else got used to their PDA at this point.”

Shiro doesn’t know them enough as a family to understand their relationship, but as Keith’s parents sat on his sofa, talking with the people around them with their fingers linked almost discreetly together, Shiro knows that their time together is something they’ve kept fresh and blooming throughout the years.

It’s sweet, if anything. Shiro tries to ignore the twinge in his chest as he’s reminded of his own parents acting affectionate towards each other all those years ago, and instead turns towards Keith.

The man has already finished off the boxes of cream puffs, and Shiro quickly refills the ones with mini chicken pies. “Y’know, one day, you have to teach how to make some of your stuff. I can’t be depending on you whenever I want to scarf down some of your brownies or eclairs.”

Keith laughs as he carries the plates, Shiro scrambling to follow as they make their way out of the kitchen. “Oh, come on. What’s wrong with me being your supplier?”

“It feels like I’m using you.”

“If you’re using me, you wouldn’t even be paying me.”

“That’s the thing,” Shiro points out. “You have not given me the chance to pay.”

“Whoa,” Hunk cuts in, stepping into their way. “Stop right there, fellas. You seem to have a problem.”

Keith narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

Hunk points above their heads, grinning. “Look up.”

Shiro follows his finger. Air vacuums itself out of his lungs.

Keith openly gapes. “Is that a _mistletoe?_ I didn’t put it there.”

“I did,” Lance calls out from behind Hunk, beaming mischievously wide from where he’s holding onto his punch. Keith snaps his glare at him.

“ _Why—_ “

“It’s _tradition_.”

Nostrils flare. “ _Tradition—_ “

Shiro shifts his weight to one side, notices how everyone’s attention is on them as they watch the way both friends argue. Keith has his fingers gripping tightly around the the edges of the plates, brows furrowed down viscously, a streak of red running across his nose.

Shiro isn’t handling this any better when there’s sweat threatening to break under his shirt, heat almost unbearable on his own face. This isn’t something worth the stress, though, if Keith looks as if he’d rather turn tail.

Shiro leans a bit into his space. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” he murmurs, catching Keith’s attention when he whips his head towards his way. “It’s okay.”

Keith doesn’t reply, but there’s something peculiar in the deep purple of his eyes as he considers what Shiro says; the frown slowly unravels itself across his forehead, the pinch in his mouth smoothening as he regards Shiro with a carefully closed look.

Time seems to slow down as Shiro stares unwaveringly back, his heart kicking a notch higher against his chest. He finds himself enraptured, a golden glow occupying the edges of his vision while he’s frozen to this compromising position of social policies and personal interests.

Shiro wants to laugh. Everything has to do with personal interest when it comes to _this_.

But, Shiro doesn’t have to worry, so it seems. Because while he’s been too busy trying not to fall into the depths of his own purple doom, Keith has already come to the conclusion to readjust his hold onto the plates. It’s like watching through a couple of slow motion lenses, and Shiro doesn’t have the chance to do anything when Keith reaches forward to press his lips against the corner of his mouth.

Shiro stutters, hand tightening onto his own plate. 

The cheer that erupts around them has been drowned out by the rush of blood running through his ears; his senses have completely abandoned everything and instead tunnelled onto the smooth plush of Keith’s mouth smushed against his skin.

It’s _sensational._

When Keith leans back, his lashes are lowered, his blush has darken a shade than before, and he’s standing there with those two plates still in his grip despite how heavy it might get after holding onto them for a long period of time.

Shiro flushes hard at what just occurred, and the fact it’s been done in front of so many people.

Keith opens his mouth, words wanting to get out but in the end snaps it closed, where he clears his throat briefly before he steps around Shiro to make his way briskly towards the table of food.

“Oh, buddy,” Hunk chuckles as he gently takes the plate from Shiro, who only watches the way Keith switch places between his hors d'oeuvre and his cream puffs.

It’s later that night after most of the guests went back, and Shiro stays behind to clean up the remaining dishes as Keith sees the last of them off, exchanging wishes before the door closes with a _click_.

The thud of footsteps colliding against the floor sounds louder now that they’re alone again. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

Shiro shrugs just as Keith steps beside him, who has a washcloth in his hand as he begins wiping the dishes dry. “I kinda want to.”

“I’m a bad host for letting you do all the work, you know.”

“And then, I’d be a bad guest for letting you wash up after my leftovers.”

“I invited you into my house, I’m _supposed_ to clean up.”

“And I want to help.” Shiro gives him a look. “Let me.”

Keith gazes back, suspicious. “Are you trying to pay back at all the times I helped you in your apartment? Is this what this is?”

Shiro only makes a non-committal hum. Keith scoffs softly.

“Unbelievable.”

They work quietly after that, enjoying each other’s company like they usually do. But, Shiro can’t help but still feel the searing touch of that kiss, the way it’s branded on his skin as if Keith is still kissing him right then, right now.

It’s maddening, but Shiro vehemently ignores it.

When the last of the cup is kept in the cabinet, Keith says, “Thanks for this, Shiro. This would’ve taken me double time to finish, but you just saved me more sleep.”

Shiro laughs shortly, making his way towards the door while Keith follows from behind. “No problem. And thanks for this party and all the food. Which was excellent, by the way, I can never get tired of that.”

When Shiro discreetly tries to look for the damned mistletoe, he finds it gone. He doesn’t know when it first did, but disappointment and relief clashes in his chest.

“Still up for the baking lesson?” Keith asks lightly, standing in front of Shiro with his hands buried in his pants pockets, in no hurry to make him leave. “I could, if you want to.”

“The moment I’m not buried with all my work, I’ll take your offer,” Shiro tells him. And he doesn’t consider his response as a joke of any kind, but Keith huffs out in amusement nonetheless, one corner of his mouth curling up crookedly.

It makes the same breathless sensation from before ambush on Shiro again as he looks at Keith like this; his shoulders are relaxed, his hair flopped into his eyes after spending the whole night interacting with his guests and racing to refill the food and drinks he served. Shiro remembers seeing the way he catches up with his parents, their large dog named Kosmo excitedly licking his face from where he stands on Keith’s lap as he laughs, hands scratching the dog’s neck. It’s enamoring, seeing them all together.

It’s enamoring now, seeing him up close. The scar that stretches up his face, one from an accident only happened a couple of years ago, looks darker from this side of the room. And Shiro finds himself wanting to touch it with his thumb, but then that’d be rude and wrong.

He does catch himself leaning nearer into his space though, without himself knowing while he’s been daydreaming about touching his face and feeling his kiss, and Keith appears to be frozen in his own place as he stares at Shiro with wide eyes.

It snaps Shiro back to the present, fumbling to correct himself as he leans back with a clear of his throat as he flickers his look towards the half eaten gingerbread cottage. The glory in which it used to stand as now comes up to the first floor — marshmallow roof, candy cane fences, and gingerbread family all gone. “I should get going.”

It snaps Keith out of his reverie too. “I— yeah. Yeah.” And then he’s opening the door for Shiro, baring the cold corridor to them both. Keith gives him one last smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to be. “See you, Shiro.”

Shiro licks his lips, an impending doom growing slowly in his chest. But, he replies with a small smile of his own to prevent Keith from noticing. “See you, Keith.”

Once Shiro finds himself in his own apartment, leaning against his own door, he realises he may have fucked something up. Badly.

He groans, letting his head fall back with a loud _thud_.

 

* * *

 

“You need to do something.” 

The cadet coming out of the simulation flickers her gaze towards Shiro’s way, anxiety bright in her blue eyes from where she’s at the other side of the clearing. Shiro gives her a reassuring smile. “Do what?”

“About whatever hell you and Keith put yourselves into.” Matt replies in a low tone, fingers tapping on his tab.

Shiro stiffens, but he refuses to look at Matt.

They’re both out of their offices to visit the newly recruited cadets in their chances of flexing out their ability to fly a spacecraft. For morale boost, Shiro insists. Just to give a small speech of what you can do if you give yourself a chance to just let go and have your way with the stick. There are certain tricks that one have to do in order to overcome an obstacle, but that’s just part of the learning process. Go, be great. Have fun.

Most of them passed level three, some of them passed level five. Only a handful of them already passed level eight and Shiro notices the way Iverson already looks as if someone just dumped a basket of puppies on his desk.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shiro says instead, watches the way the screen outside the simulator quickly jumps from level one to level two. The first two are always easy, and the cadets are smart enough to go through those effortlessly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Shiro can feel the way Matt peers at him. “I’ve seen firsthand what you two are going through and lemme say, it’s kinda pathetic.”

“We’re not going through anything.”

“Really?” Matt snaps back mockingly, causing Shiro to wince. “I walked into that bakery, stayed there for ten seconds, and you were already making lovey dovey eyes to the landlord. The worst part is, he did lovey dovey eyes to you too but he’s _worse_ because he was more obvious.”

After the party, everything goes back to the way it’s supposed to be. Shiro talks to Keith the way they always do, they even hang out one time after closing time with mugs of decaf on the small round table. You know, like friends do. Even if these friends kissed each other’s cheeks and almost kissed again in Keith’s apartment, but that’s just life playing house with them on the most inappropriate times.

Sometimes, though, the silence filling up the gaps between them can get too loud; one that rings shrilly in his ears and almost makes him wring his hands together. Sometimes, when Shiro looks at Keith, Keith has a hard time looking at him back.

It makes something sour sit heavily at the bottom of his throat, but Shiro swallows it down and tries to think of something to say that doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels when he wants to fix this between them.

Because this has never happened before. This new air between them is breaking him on the inside out and Shiro tries not to let it crumble him down too much.

They just went through an awkward position. Keith just needs a little time to adjust around it.

But, Shiro does remember the day when he arrives at the bakery earlier than usual. At that time, Matt comes along to buy a box of brownies, and while he’s choosing a few pieces for himself, Shiro makes his way towards the counter to talk to Keith. Hunk’s manning the cashier then, and Shiro doesn’t stop the smile that stretches out as he waves at them both.

Keith gives out a smile of his own. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” Hunk adds. “That’s the first.”

“We got off early,” Shiro replies, dumping his coat on the counter. “For once. Matt insisted.”

“Tell him to do that again later.” Keith jokes.

Shiro laughs, shaking his head. “He can try.”

“It usually works,” Matt says, stepping in with a tray of his dessert. He arches up his eyebrows. “The dude thinks he’s a machine, you know? Stamp, sign, _here you go, all set_ , on repeat.”

Shiro frowns. “I don’t always do that.”

Matt passes the tray into Hunk’s awaiting hands. “He does.”

Keith shoots Shiro a smirk, using his elbows to lean against the counter. “Poor dude.”

Shiro almost stutters out a protest, but Keith just lets out a small bout of laughter as Hunk packs Matt’s brownies into a small box. Shiro notices how both of them share a look.

“You’re seeing things,” Shiro says to him as the simulator blares out in red. Game over. “We were definitely not doing that.”

“And you’re in denial,” Matt sighs, putting away his tablet with a cross of his arms to focus his full attention on Shiro. “I had Hunk as witness while you two mooned over each other like a bunch of school girls. But, something’s stopping you from actually making a move. What is it? Did something happened?”

“Nothing, Matt,” Shiro tells him, refusing to meet his stare.

“Shiro.”

“There’s nothing,” Shiro insists, and he does shoot Matt a look, before he’s walking away. “Really, you shouldn’t worry so much.”

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Matt says instead, easily stepping into his pace. “So, what did you guys do? Did you guys kiss or something?”

Shiro nods at a passing officer when they salute him, passing through a group of people before they went through the front entrance.

Matt lets out a small, dramatic gasp. “You did. You guys kissed.”

Shiro pushes down a blush. “No, we didn’t. That didn’t happen.”

“Liar."

“Look,” Shiro starts, irritated. “Nothing happen the way you’d think it was, so can you please drop it?”

“It was at the Christmas party, wasn’t it?”

Shiro falters, the tingling press of those lips still a moving ghost against the corner of his mouth. He glances at Matt, lips pursed. “We didn’t kiss like _that_ ,” he says slowly. “But, we were compromised to stand under a mistletoe.”

“Compromised.” Matt parrots out, tone dry. “And mistletoe kissing! Such a Christmas classic, I love it.”

Shiro sighs, walking down the hallway before they arrive at his office, where Matt merely leans against the doorframe as he watches Shiro sit on his chair and pull onto his drawers. “You chose that place because of him, you know,” Matt continues, causing Shiro to glance up. “You’re interested in him. What’s holding you back?”

Good question. Shiro doesn’t know.

He likes to think he isn’t ready for that sort of thing, that the thought of actually pursuing into another relationship after years of leaving the previous one is something he has to think through properly. He doesn’t want to feel the burden of thinking his partner would leave him the moment he phases into his overworking period. He doesn’t want his bad memories to be the catalyst to a failing relationship.

It’s not even about Keith at this point. Shiro is just worried he won’t be enough in being what anyone would expect in a relationship.

Matt is able to see that without Shiro saying anything, and something softens around the corner of his eyes. “Well, take your time, I guess. But, not too long.” He gives a quirk of a smile. “You’re torturing the good people of that bakery with your pining. They’re there to earn good money, not be saddled with your emotional labour.”

Shiro lets out a snort, putting down a file on his table. “Keith doesn’t even like me that way.”

Matt gives him a hard look. “Did you even listen to a word I said?”

Shrugging, Shiro flips the file open. Matt sighs heavily through his nose.

“Fine, do whatever you want. Pine for another three more years for all I care. But, if you come to me weeping about him, I’d just might not care anymore.”

Shiro flashes him a grin. “That’s the dream.”

Matt grunts, pushing himself off the door frame. “Just do something about it, Shiro.”

Shiro watches him go, hand still pressed against the surface of the opened file he’s left opened.

Despite his reaction in all of this, he can’t help but be a little hopeful of what Matt said.

What if this is all what he says it is? Where the implication of what Shiro feels is somehow, in someway, answered back with the same amount of affection he allows himself to feel for Keith?

The thought makes him run his hand over his face, the weight of such notion rhetorically bringing him to his knees that Shiro thinks that one day, this might actually kill him in his sleep.

Another part of him is doubtful, where Keith only acts the way he is because he’s just friendly towards Shiro. There are many people who does things the way they did as friends, it shouldn’t be surprising.

But, what Shiro really has to do is to apologise. He’s made Keith uncomfortable, straining something between them in the process, and Shiro doesn’t like the fact they’re a little stiff around the corners nowadays because of that. He wants the easy friendship they have, and bridging back the distance it’s caused will help if he starts seeking Keith out first.

Shiro feels his stomach twist at the thought of facing him with this baggage, but he has to try. He has to make it right.

 

* * *

 

It’s another late night, and Shiro finds himself leaning against the railing of the lift, staring blankly at the doors. 

He knows if he tilts his head towards the ceiling, he’ll only see how dark the circles under his eyes have gotten.

One of the droids they’ve sent up to one of Pluto’s moons vanished somewhere around twenty-one hundred, its signal cut off abruptly when it had been in the middle of its weekly scout in one of the east side of the flagged areas. Nothing had been out of ordinary when it happened, but the sudden interference was a smack in the face they haven’t anticipated that it stunned them for a second, before they’ve been trying to reach for the droid ever since.

They still haven’t found anything even when hours have passed, but they would try again tomorrow. Hopefully, the results would be fruitful.

The elevator lets out a soft _ding_ above his head. With that, Shiro pushes himself away from the railing as he steps out, digging into his coat pocket for his keys; the jiggle they give out is a stark contrast to the quiet corridor, where the pipes hum louder and the creak in the floorboards are eager to be known while he makes his way to his apartment.

Before he arrives, however, there’s a package that sits prettily in front of his door, and Shiro slows down his pace until he finds himself standing directly beside it.

He blinks, stooping down to have a closer look before he realises it’s one of those fancy packaging Kogane’s would use during the Christmas season. Instead of packing their pastries into their normal white boxes, this one is printed red and green to illustrate a wrapped present with a giant bow.

This one has a note taped on top of the box.

With his heart in his throat, Shiro reaches out and unplucks it, settling on his hunches properly as he simply holds onto the card in his hand.

He doesn’t know what this means, and he’s afraid what he’ll find inside. But, he has to know, though. Mainly because it’s addressed to him and he has a feeling it’s important enough to make him feel as if he’s going to fall on his ass soon.

Shiro flips the card open. He feels his soul swoop down when he sees the message.

_I’m sorry._

_—K_

This isn’t what he expected. Shiro swallows thickly, disbelief and the feeling of being snubbed a swirling mass of typhoon colliding inside the bars of his ribs, shaking him to his very core. The message is a heavy weight on his fingers as he has a hard time holding it up properly now that he knows who it’s from.

This isn’t right. This isn’t what it should’ve gone.

Licking his dry lips, Shiro tucks the card under his armpit and pops open the lid of the package, only for it to reveal the same chunky cinnamon roll Keith had first given him earlier in the days when Shiro had still been moving into his own apartment.

A scathing bout of laughter burst out. There’s something ridiculous about how _Keith_ has to apologise. As if it’s his fault. As if he’s the coward, the one who backed down from a situation that’s as obvious as the damn sun itself because everything’s a little bit newer than most, and that terrifies him to the fucking bones.

It shouldn’t be this way. Keith deserves so much more than just a view of Shiro tucking his tail between his legs as he runs. Shiro wants to set this right.

With determination racing through the valley of his veins, Shiro scoops up the package and strides towards the only other door on this floor. Keith might think he’s done a job well done after sending this dessert, but Shiro has unfinished business to attend with him. He’s in for a treat.

Shiro readjusts his grip onto the box so that his hand is free, and is about to knock on the door when he stutters to a halt.

No. He shakes his head. No, he refuses to back down again. Hesitation will get him nowhere.

Throttling his senses awake, Shiro lets his knuckles rap against the surface, and the sound resembles a gong in an empty battlefield.

The night seems to pause behind that door, as if his presence really did surprise Keith in whatever it is he’s been doing while Shiro waits with his breath balled up in his airways. The ringing sound comes back in low, but shrill tones. Everything is suddenly too loud, his arm threatens to crush the box he has in his grip, and he’s tempted to swivel around and make a run to his own apartment.

But then, there’s a muted _thud_ , as if someone just fell from a moderately high place before it got replaced by the sound of them walking nearer towards him. And then the door swings open, a little frantic than usual.

It’s Keith. Of course, it’s Keith. Whose hair is in a mess of a mane as if he’s been lying down before Shiro comes rocking the whole world with his existence, t-shirt a little bit wrinkled and lopsided. Keith, who’s taking in Shiro with wide eyes while the man stands in front of his door in his uniform, as much as Shiro is taking him in.

Keith clutches onto the edge of the door. “Shiro.”

He’s beautiful. Shiro can’t stop looking at him, at how this person has made the stars glimmer a little brighter than most days, where shadows of what past Shiro’s been hiding are pushed so far to the back of his mind that they almost do not exist — how at times, when they’re the only two people who’s awake at the late hours of the night, with nothing but the laughter they shared and the company they’ve made.

It’s settling back into this plush contentment whenever Shiro talks with him, of how being with Keith makes everything so easy that familiarity might play a part as well. It’s how Keith speaks — of his cats, his family, the world that spins around them and only them when they’re both alone. And it’s in his eyes — such bright, bright passages to the soul that bears itself to Shiro unawares.

Shiro thrives on it.

It’s then snapping himself back to the present and how he’s still holding onto the box in his arm, to the wary stare of the man that’s brought him there in the first place.

“Why are you doing this?” Shiro rasps out, and he should be worried at how retched he sounds, but his heart is thudding too loudly in his ears and his skin feels as if they’re ablaze with something manic.

Keith gapes in surprise. “What?”

“This.” Shiro lifts the box between them, and Keith’s eyes jump to it. “You’re apologising when you did nothing wrong. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.”

Keith catches himself then, snapping out of his shock before he lets out a small ‘ _ah’_ , running his hand over his hair until they stick out in ridiculous places more.

It’ll be hard for Shiro to concentrate if Keith keeps doing that.

“It’s for what I did at the party,” Keith says, dropping his hand until it slaps at his side. “My Christmas party, almost a month ago? When we, uh,” he clears his throat. “When we were under the mistletoe. You were uncomfortable and I realised I violated your space.”

Shiro stares at him. “When we were under the mistletoe?”

Keith nods, eyes flickering away. “Yeah.”

Unable to help it, a huff of disbelieving laughter escapes from Shiro involuntarily, causing Keith to snap his gaze back to him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I didn’t exactly mind with all of that happening.” When Keith continues to stare at him with that same look, Shiro quickly adds, “We were under the mistletoe, everyone was looking at us. You weren’t violating my space or anything, Keith. You were just being a sporting host, that’s all. If anything, I should be the one apologising for putting the pressure on you.”

It’s not like Shiro’s opposed to the kissing or anything. But, Keith doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“Anyway,” Shiro adds, holding out the box for Keith to take. “I can’t accept this, not when you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I still feel guilty, Shiro,” Keith argues. “Just, please, take it. It’s yours.”

“I can’t.” Shiro tries to put it in his hands, but Keith only tightens his grip onto the door, refusing to take it from him. Shiro grunts. “Come on, Keith. Just, please—“

“I made it for you,” Keith cuts him off. “Take it.”

“I’ve already taken more than enough from you,” Shiro insists, and he hates he’s getting desperate with this. This shouldn’t even be a problem in the first place. “I can’t take and take from you like this again.”

Keith chuckles, breathless. “Shiro, this is only a small amount of what I want to give you. I’d give you more, if I could.”

“ _Why?_ ” Shiro demands. His arm is starting to shake, whether from the weight of the box or how this is getting too raw too fast for him to catch up. He doesn’t know, but Keith really needs to take the box soon.

“You wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, digging his nails into the wood of his door at this point. “You wouldn’t understand. This is something I have to do on my own.”

“You could at least make me understand why then?” Shiro questions, his lungs threaten to shake. “I can help. I can help whatever it is you need, especially when—“

He cuts himself off, the words snatching itself from his lips as he notices the way Keith looks at him.

And then, it’s noticing how they would’ve gone nowhere if they keep up like this. How they would’ve had everything in the palm of their hands if they just admit _everything_.

What does he have to lose?

Something alights in his chest then — the hearth in which it glows deeply with the colour of his own need brightens when Shiro takes a deep breath, and it flares into a bonfire of what his heart holds. He pulls back his arm, the box still in his hold, and he meets Keith’s worried eyes.

“Especially when,” he says quietly, the words hushed and sure. “you made me realise that you’ve become everything to me.”

There are no gods that control this kind of overwhelming emotion that press into his seams until he’s on the verge of bursting. There are no words to explain how this could bring him to the floor; this could bring him to his hands and knees while Keith stares at him with his mouth parted in astonishment.

Shiro loves him. He knows this enough to say it without an ounce of regret nor fear. He knows this enough to say it again and again and Keith would be the one to hear this, that he’ll be the _only_ one to hear this.

They’re standing at the the entrance of Keith’s apartment, door ajar, and it seems as if the building is breathing with them at this time of the night.

Keith shudders in a breath through his teeth. “What?”

“I’ve been admiring you,” Shiro confesses, and it looks as if it’s a little too much for Keith to take in when he looks away. “For a while now. And I didn’t know what to do with it until now.”

There’s no answer from Keith, clearly stunned at this revelation as he stares at his own feet, bottom lip abused by his teeth. The silence that begins to form between them is making Shiro shift his weight.

“You don’t have to,” Shiro falters, but quickly soldiers on. “Feel the same way back. We can still be friends, and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Don’t,” Keith starts, and it’s sharp, almost desperate. He licks his lips, picking up his head to look at Shiro again. “Don’t say that.”

Keith sounds as if he’s pleading with him. Shiro blinks, confused. “Why not?"

Keith parts his mouth, the words not coming out that he only snaps it back closed. Shiro feels himself stuck in the piercing look of his stare, unable to move. “Shiro,” Keith finally says. “I’ve been hoping you’d feel the same way.”

It makes the air harder to breathe, and Shiro stares back at Keith as he continues, bashful, “I’ve been trying to tell you before that kiss. But then, _that_ happened, and I thought you were uncomfortable with all of that, so I stopped trying.”

“On the contrary,” Shiro mumbles, but Keith hears him and pinks, turning away. “I thought you didn’t, you know—“

“On the contrary,” Keith parrots back his words. Then, he lets out a puff of laughter. “Hunk and the others got tired at how obvious I’ve been. They’ve been pushing me to tell you for,” he stops, embarrassed. “For a while now, actually. They kept saying how the only ones who are blind to all of _this_ ,” he gestures between them. “Is us.”

“Naturally, for me.” Shiro agrees, making Keith laugh again.

The kind of miracle that happens between them doesn’t come very often. Shiro realises this is it, this is their chance. One way or another, the day will pass and they would either have a taste of what they both have been yearning for or leave it to the side for it to rot.

The latter doesn’t seem appealing.

Shiro takes a step forward, one that makes Keith straighten his back as he holds onto Shiro’s gaze, a spark crackling underneath the layer of his skin until it makes Shiro feel as if he’s on top of the world.

“Will you have me then?” Shiro asks him quietly.

Keith lets his eyes flickers around his face, before he’s reaching out to take the box from Shiro, who loosens his hold on it until it’s out of his hand.

Keith lets it drop onto the cabinet beside his door without looking away from him, and it makes Shiro feel as if the universe has been spurred into moving again when Keith tilts his face up before he pauses.

It’s maddening. It’s maddening because Keith is so close and yet so far, and Shiro’s stuck in this position, unable to do anything else than stare back at him unblinkingly.

And then, slowly, it’s Keith pressing his lips on the same spot he kissed from before.

Shiro exhales deeply. He feels how Keith lets his mouth graze at the corner of his; feels how he’s breathing softly against his skin while he waits for Shiro to answer.

It’s letting his nose brush against Keith’s, letting his warm breath blanket over his lips before Shiro’s leaning forward to claim that mouth into a proper kiss.

It’s a burst of galaxies and universes colliding against each other. It’s the perfect taste of what Shiro would expect from a man who has his heart held tight in the curl of his fist.

The soft plush of these lips is what Shiro has been waiting for. This is what they both deserve.

It isn’t until Keith leans back to break the kiss, his breathing could hardly be heard as Shiro takes in the sight of those purple eyes, the way his hair falls into them. It’s watching Keith watching him, and that has never made him feel as if he’s on air such as that.

Keith licks his lips, before he’s reaching up to catch his mouth into another kiss. Only this time, he’s more sure. Only this time, he knows Shiro won’t run away.

Shiro would never let that happen again.

He feels the way Keith reaches behind him to close the door, the sound it gives out rattles Shiro to his toes as Keith tugs him nearer until they’re pressed together, chest to chest; it’s having Keith deepening the kiss between them; it’s having Shiro reaching up to cup his face and angle his own to properly taste what’s been offered to him.

He loves this. Shiro loves how Keith makes a point to touch him where he can get. He loves having Keith’s hands glide up his back before they hook onto his shoulders, pulling Shiro nearer than they already are, before Keith is tugging him deeper into his home that Shiro follows without complaints.

When Keith pushes him into the back of his sofa, Shiro realises this is what he wants; in Keith’s arms, kissing him like his life depends on it, and the leftover smell of the bakery sticking on every corner of this room and in this building and even on their clothes. It’s having Shiro deepening the kiss, delighted in the rumble of Keith’s content sigh.

This, Shiro realises, is what he needs. He’s grateful it’s come to this.

 

* * *

  

“I wonder how I’d be if I was a pilot.”

It’s after the refreshing kisses drawl into lazy ones, where those make Shiro’s head dizzy with all the attention that Keith’s willing to give, that they’ve settled in the living room.

Shiro’s lying on the sofa, Keith sprawled between his legs while he rests his chin on the back of his hand, the other skirting lightly on the amputated limb.

Shiro’s taken off his uniform somewhere in the middle of their kissing fest, leaving him in his tank top.

“You’d be a natural,” Shiro says easily, fingers playing with Keith’s hair. “Seeing that you’re pretty much good with everything.”

Keith laughs, turning his face so that he can bury it into Shiro’s chest. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s true,” Shiro says, grinning as he loops his arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulls him nearer. “You’d probably suppress me. That’d be hot.”

Keith groans, muffled and embarrassed. “Stop it.”

“Aw, you can’t accept compliments,” Shiro snickers. “That’s cute—“

Without warning, Keith raises his head to kiss him, effectively shutting him up. Shiro’s not complaining though. Whatever euphoria he’s on would last him through this lifetime and next, and honestly? He doesn’t mind one bit.

When they part, Shiro sighs, utterly besotted. “I could get used to that.”

“Brat.” Keith chuckles, unable to help himself from stealing another peck.

When he glances at the clock on the wall, he grunts. “I’m supposed to prep the bread in another couple of hours.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Shiro readjusts his position so that they’re both comfortable, before he pulls Keith in again. “We better get some sleep.”

When he drops a kiss onto his forehead, Shiro realises the small smile peeking out from where Keith laid down, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

Shiro could definitely get used to this.

It turns out ‘a couple of hours’ stretched out until noon.

Keith curses as he scrambles to get up, startling Shiro awake with all the noises and the way Keith drops to the floor in his hurry.

“Keith?” He groggily asks, rubbing his eyes with thumb. “You okay?”

When Shiro pulls his hand away, he finds Keith kneeling beside him on the floor, bed hair a bigger mess than it had been from yesterday.

“Hey,” Keith greets softly, reaching out to brush his hair away that Shiro leans into his touch, eyelids lowering again. “It’s alright, you can go back to sleep.”

Shiro hums when Keith drops a kiss onto his nose. “What time is it?”

“Around 11:50AM.”

Shiro snaps his eyes open, cursing as he pushes himself up that causes Keith to lean back in order to give him space. “I’m supposed to be at the Garrison by now. I’m _late_.”

“You have an event?” Keith asks, making a beeline towards the bathroom.

“Something came up yesterday on one of Pluto’s moons,” Shiro answers, hears the way the tap is being twisted while he remains on the sofa to stretch the kinks out of his back. Sleeping on the sofa might have been a mistake, they should’ve moved to the bedroom for post-confession cuddles. “I was supposed to go in early and check the process.”

“Well, you’re up now,” Keith says as he walks out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and face washed, before he’s making his way to his coffee machine.

Shiro grunts as he pushes himself off the couch. “Need coffee first.”

He stops near the entrance to watch the way Keith moves around the kitchen. Seeing him reaching up for two mugs from the cabinet, for that jar of honey from the other cabinet, Shiro has to agree with himself that this might be him at his luckiest.

He steps forward, standing beside Keith to snake an arm around his waist and pulls him for a morning kiss.

“Morning breath,” Keith chuckles against his lips, one hand holding onto his arm.

They deepen their kiss despite his statement, and Shiro tastes the mint from Keith’s tongue that he gasps, swiping his own against Keith’s bottom lip that Shiro doesn’t stop the hum he gives out when Keith tightens his grip onto his arm.

Keith breaks away, both of them gasping, before he brings his mouth to Shiro’s jaw and begins his kisses there, bodily facing him to properly hold onto Shiro with both arms wrapped around his middle.

“We’re late,” Shiro reminds him, laughing with his face raised to the ceiling.

The only reply he gets is the nip of teeth that has Shiro yelping in surprise.

And then, Shiro’s holding Keith in his jaw with the palm of his hand and tilting his head to kiss him again, teeth colliding with feverish need, and Shiro’s barracking him against the kitchen counter as breaths comes out in puffs of clouds.

The coffee machine lets out a hacking noise as it sputters out the dark beverage of coffee, pulling them apart for a moment as they catch their breath, reminding them of the situation they’re in as both of them glance at the clock.

Keith looks at him again, letting his forehead rest on top of Shiro’s. “We’re late.”

Shiro only hums in response, quickly leaning forward to smuggle another kiss from Keith before he escapes, laughing as Keith protests loudly behind him.

Once Shiro cleans himself up and drank down the coffee Keith made, both of them make their way down the lift, down the hallways, and pass through the grilled gate to get to the bakery with their hands linked together.

By then, Hunk’s beaming brightly from behind the counter. “So,” he begins. Shiro and Keith let go of each other when Keith has to slip to the back for his apron. “The mental breakdown and stress baking wasn’t for nothing?”

“Hunk.” Keith warns from the back.

“It’s true,” Hunk addresses Shiro, who simply grins. “He was going to rip his hair out if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him.”

When Keith comes out, he’s flushing red across his nose while aggressively tying the apron around his waist. He scowls, tugging onto the ribbon to tighten it. “Can you please? We’re in the middle of work.”

Hunk shrugs, taking the tray from the next customer. “I’m not the one who came down late.”

Keith rolls his eyes, and Shiro follows him through the curtains so that he can catch his wrist.

Keith looks back, curious, and then Shiro’s leaning forward to press one last kiss onto his mouth.

“I’ll see you later?” He murmurs once they’ve broken apart, causing Keith to smile at him.

“Yeah,” he answers just as softly, using his thumb to let it sail under Shiro’s eye, just over his cheek. “You know where to find me.”

A simple assurance that would have the world collapsed under that kind of weight. When Shiro looks at him, his chest feels lighter than it had been in years.

He realises he’s gotten to this stage of his life where he’s recklessly happy and grateful at the same time. For once, he’ll go through it even if the skies would fall and the ocean would rise above their heads.

Because now, he has Keith with him. Now, he’s not alone.


End file.
